


Broken Strings and Chipped Wood

by I_hover_for_fun



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and it's great, like badboyhalo, they are musicians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_hover_for_fun/pseuds/I_hover_for_fun
Summary: After years of excelling as a young violinist, Darryl Noveschosch gives up his dream to become a world class player. Although, everything is not as it seems when he begins to fall in love with the instrument he thought he hated.Zak Ahmed is a conservatory student who is just going through the motions. He does what he must, but isn't truly motivated until he overhears the music of someone who was meant to play. Someone like Bad.
Relationships: Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 62
Kudos: 163





	1. It's Not Just The Music

**April 16, 2015**

“Bad! Come back! Wait!” Clay waded through the crowd of people, trying to make his way to his friend. 

There were so many emotions rippling through the group of people, it was incredible. Joy and happiness from the winners of the competition, boredom from younger siblings and audience members who had just watched three hours of performances, sadness from those who did not do as well as they’d hoped, and desperation from thor friends running after them as they’d stormed out of the room.

It was spring, and the annual High School age violin competition had just concluded. The last violin competition in this age group that Bad would be able to compete in. He was a senior this year, and had been working day after day to place well in this competition. He was the oldest one there, the most experienced, but he didn’t even place top ten. He placed fourteenth.

Clay felt awful for his friend. He was a year younger, and already couldn’t imagine being beaten by a freshman. It was something that could take a large toll on Bad’s self esteem with how diligently he’d been practicing, and Clay was desperate to make sure his friend was alright.

He dodged a few people, stepping past the winner of the competition as she talked to her parents, a sweaty freshman whose name Clay didn’t even know. The girl was good, that was true. Her vibrato was beautiful, and her intonation was clear, but Bad was clearly more skilled. He simply played with a greater sense of musicality, constantly aware of both technical details and the overall sound and instinct.

Today just wasn’t his day.

Clay caught a glimpse of Bad’s form leaving the building. He flung open the double doors and walked forward without even a glance back. He was confident when he was in his performance clothes- a cleanly fitted black suit with a tail coat that hung to his knees in the back. It made him look sophisticated and older, like he was from a different period of time. Everything was brought together by his little bow tie around his neck. Granted, the violin case strapped to his back kind of took away from the cool factor.

He pushed through the crowd at the door and took a breath of moist air when he emerged outside. It was trying to rain, but while no water was coming down, the condensation still hung uncomfortably in the air.

Bad was walking forcefully ahead, step by loud step making his way towards the parking lot. He looked… angry? Disappointed? Clay wasn’t sure. His demeanor wasn’t blatantly giving anything away. He was still maintaining that professional look, even while reeling from his performance.

“Bad! Wait!” Clay jogged to catch up to his friend. “Bad, what happened in there?”

They were standing next to his car now, a yellow Volkswagen from fifteen years prior given to him by his grandparents when he was seventeen. And Bad was refusing to speak, packing his instrument into his car, and stuffing his folder of sheet music into the pocket behind the front seat. His shoulders were tense. Clay had yet to hear him say a word.

The performance had been, for lack of a better term, awful. Bad had been shaking when he had come onstage. He had a bad history of neglecting himself before playing, and this was no exception. He was going on barely any sleep and had practiced the piece into oblivion.

The troubles started when the pianist began, and after a two measure introduction, Bad missed his entrance. You could see the panic in his eyes as he quickly regained his pacing and went on with the music.

Kuchler’s Concertino in D major.

It was an easy piece, something Bad had been able to play since late middle school, but he’d wanted to do something simple to accentuate his tone and musicality.

“It takes a good musician to play a complicated piece,” He’d said while explaining his choice, “But it takes a great one to make a true piece of art out of something relatively simple.”

He’d then proceeded to backtrack and stutter out an apology for sounding arrogant because “I’m no better than the next violinist and I mean no disrespect to people who, like, find this one difficult, ya know?”

Bad was a character, that was for sure.

On the third line of the piece, his dynamics were all over the place. On the fourth, his pinky finger was flat everytime. His slurs on the second page were messy, and he could barely keep his fingers high enough to tunnel.

The worst part was the end where he rushed, missing the allargando marking completely, and finishing the piece a second before the pianist.

It was painful to listen to, much less watch. Clay knew how important it was to the young man that he did well, and he certainly did not do well. Fourteenth out of fifteen people. At least he wasn’t fifteenth.

“Bad, come on bud, you can’t just storm out-”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do!”

Bad’s voice left a shocked silence. Clay had never seen him that angry. Not in eighth grade, when he’d watched from the bus as Bad entered the high school for the firt time and get pushed down a hill. Not in sixth grade, when Bad’s first dog had died. Not even the time last year when his girlfriend of two years had confessed to cheating on him at an overnight school trip.

But, he reasoned, this was Bad’s thing. His talent. This was what everyone assumed Bad would get into someday. Music, the violin, it was all he had ever worked towards. Ever since fifth grade when he’d taken up the instrument, everyone knew he would play it well into adulthood. This was what defined Bad.

And yet, after all this time, his last performance of his high school career was an absolute trainwreck.

“My original pianist broke her wrist, and this guy had to play last minute. He didn’t wait for me to set a tempo or anything, he just played.” Bad turned around and shut the back door to his car. His eyes were shining with unshed tears and he gave a watery attempt at a smile. “I’m not blaming him or anything. Like, we all fall short sometimes, and he was probably just as nervous as I was. It’s not his fault. It’s-”

His voice cracked, and before Clay knew it, he was half supporting Bad as he sobbed against his shoulder. At this point, people were begining to flow into the parking lot. They were giving him sympathetic looks as he tried to console his friend.

“Hey, Bad, it’s okay you did fine.” It wasn’t true. It was a lie and they both knew it, but one mistake didn’t make or break a career, right?

“Clay, the problem is that I didn’t do fine,” He sobbed into Clay’s dampening shirt. “The problem is that I’ve been off now for a while. I haven’t played right lately and I guarantee everyone has noticed. The conductor even took me to the side after class the other day to tell me that I’m not performing how I used to.”

“That’s not a bad thing, dude,” Clay eased Bad away so he could look into his eyes, “Styles change, they develop overtime. You’re growing, not getting bad. You’ve got a scholarship to a music college, for Pete’s sake! You’re good at what you do, don’t forget that! Besides this wasn’t your complete last performance.”

“I don’t think you get it, Clay. My music just isn’t good anymore,” He glanced up at his friend, there were still streaks of tears down his cheeks and he looked like a mess. His eyes were red and Clay was half worried he’d scratched his contacts while wiping at his eyes. “I-I don’t know if I want to do this anymore.”

“What.”

“I can’t do this anymore, Clay. It’s just not the same. My music doesn’t make anyone smile, it makes critics frown. Lately, everytime I put down my fingers, they’re clammy and stiff. I just don’t enjoy it anymore.” Bad backed away. He looked broken. “Please don’t be mad. You’re the first one I’ve told.”

“I could never be mad over something like this.” Clay was at a loss for words. This was Bad. Where does he even go at this point? “What about the scholarship?”

“It’s a theory and composing scholarship. I can get by with my piano experience and French horn.” Bad was so musically talented it was crazy. He’d picked up French Horn in seventh grade concert band and had gotten first chair in less than a month. As for piano, he taught himself until finally getting a teacher in eighth grade. There was no doubt that Bad would do well in college, but leaving the violin just like that? He couldn’t imagine.

“Please don’t try to change my mind. I’ve been thinking about this for a while and this-” He glanced around the clearing parking lot and the musicians shuffling about the building. “- It just feels like it was never meant to be.”

Clay nodded.  
____________________________________________________________________________

**September 3, 2016 7:32 A.M.**

Zak was tired.

No, he was exhausted. It was too early. He didn’t understand why, even in his second year of college, he still got stuck with the early classes. Granted, it could be because of his procrastination when actually turning in his schedule for the year, but he liked to believe he was just that unlucky.

Zak yawned as he came to a red light. His apartment was all the way on the other side of town, meaning it was cheap, but it was also quite the drive to get to his classes. He had advanced music theory first period, which was boring to no end, but important to know. After that, it was off to Music Room 122 to meet with his private teacher, which was by far the best part of his day. He wanted to be a piano teacher someday, teach kids how to hold their hands on the keys and watch them grow like he did when he was first starting out. 

To do that, though, he had to have a complete understanding of the piano.

When he walked into the room on his first day back, he was shocked to hear another pianist through the door. The song was familiar, something Chopin? He thought. It had the marking turns and trills of something Polish at least. It sounded like it was in 3/4 so most definitely a Mazurka. 

Zak opened the door quietly, and looked to see who was playing. Sometimes his teacher would take advantage of the few minutes she had between students and play something fun. 

This wasn’t his teacher.

This was a boy his age. He was sitting with impeccable posture, gazing at the the empty music desk. His foot tapped against the floor, probably some echo of a bad habit long forgotten. Afterall, this looked like a song played more with muscle memory than actual training. His hands weren’t in the right positions, and he used his index fingers and thumbs noticeably more than the rest of his hands. Zak had no idea how he could even manage to hit the right keys with such bad fingering.

Unaware of the proper way to handle the situation, Zak entered and stood for a moment before clearing his throat.

The other boy rocketed up from his seat and turned to stand so quickly, he knocked over the piano bench. His eyes were wide and he was breathing heavily. A piece of his light brown hair had fallen in front of his face.

“Oh my goodness I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize this room was being used,” The stranger’s voice was higher pitched. It would have been cute had Zak not been so taken aback by the random person in his practice room. 

“Yeah I’m in here till around ten thirty, and then I think there are a few other students who usually have it reserved.” Zak was awkwardly fiddling with his hands. He wasn’t always the best at talking to people, especially when he was not in the mood to.

The boy righted the bench with an awkward chuckle and stepped away from the piano. He sidestepped around Zak and was almost at the door when-

“That was a Chopin Mazurka you were playing, right?” Zak turned as he spoke, flashing the nervous boy a smile.

“Um,” He flicked his eyes to look at the clock on the wall before he spoke. “Yeah! It was Chopin’s Mazurka in A minor, actually.”

“Pretty impressive for the fingerings you were doing,” Zak continued, happy that he had guessed the song properly, “I can help you out with the proper ones sometime if you’d like.”

The boy let out a giggle and his smile widened. “While I would love to, I do actually know how to play. That was just something I taught myself a long while ago. Thanks for the offer though! Hopefully I’ll see ya around soon!”

Zak smiled and watched the boy slip out of the room after grabbing his bag. He stood still for a moment before the smiled dropped and his eyes widened. He ran towards the door and opened it quickly shouting as he went. “Wait!”

The boy turned around, looking confused.

“I never caught your name!”

“Oh, how rude of me!” He waved his hand in a mock salut, “The name’s Darryl, but my friends call me Bad. You?”

“Zak. My name is Zak.”

____________________________________________________________________________

**September 3, 2016 1:56 P.M.**

“I’m an idiot, Nick,” Bad trudged along the hallway as his friend drummed his fingers on his left hand.

“For the last time, Bad, it’s perfectly fine that you forgot to introduce yourself, you’d only known the guy for two minutes.” Nick’s gruff voice cut Bad off for telling the story of the strange boy for a third time since lunch.

“That doesn’t make up for the fact that I was incredibly rude! First I invade his practice space, then I tell him I don’t need his help, and then I don’t even tell him my name? I’m a mess!” Bad was gesturing wildly and tugging at his hair, a habit he’d picked up from many years of dealing with younger musicians.

Nick simply shook his head. The hallways were clearing now, and they could clearly see the auditorium where concert band was meeting that afternoon.

“Is this your first class today?” Nick, suddenly curious, looked to Bad. 

His schedule was strange to say the least. He had mornings off and opted to take them as personal practice time. He figured one could never practice too much. After his lunch at around noon, he had a long theory class. Then Mathematics. At two, he had concert band.

“Third,” Bad shrugged and scrunched his nose, “I have a literature class on Tuesdays and Thursdays at three thirty, and orchestra everyday at five.”

Nick let out a laugh. “Lucky, most of my classes are core classes again. We already did all this crap in high school.”

Bad stifled a laugh as he made his way through the open auditorium doors. “That’s why you should have studied for your exams!”

The Auditorium was a huge room lined with dark read seats, all leading back to a brilliantly large stage. On either side, were extravagantly detailed doors, leading to a backstage warm up area and the instrument lockers. Bad had dropped his horn off that morning before class, and thus moved to grab it as soon as he was passed the door on the left.

As he eased his instrument case off of it’s shelf he took a moment to think, again, about the strange boy from that morning.

The strange boy named Zak who had watched him play piano.

The strange boy named Zak who had smiled so brightly when he’d known what Bad had been playing.

The strange boy named Zak who’d awkwardly introduced himself as his face flushed in embarrassment.

What a strange boy.

He entered the practice room and made his way to his seat. They were premarked, but it was relatively easy to tell where one might end up.

Nick was a percussionist. He always drummed his fingers on his desk or pant leg or wherever. It was no surprise to see him keeping time in the back of class. Afterall, where else would a drummer be?

Bad and Clay were in the second row. First trumpet and first French horn sitting next to each other. It was shocking that Clay was already in a higher chair, but with a full ride scholarship simply because of his ability to play, it was expected.

In the front row was George. He was second chair clarinet, which was impressive, but also meant that he got to sit in front of everyone else. This meant that Bad could almost never hear the conductor because George was too busy trying to start a conversation with Clay.

Clay, George, and Nick were all Freshmen, meaning they had been going to school a week longer than the upperclassmen as part of Freshmen orientation. The campus, afterall, was difficult to navigate, and it just made more sense to allow the freshmen a week to try and figure it all out. Heck, when Bad had first arrived a year prior, it had taken him a month and a half to build his own mental map.

“Hey Bad! It’s good to see you!” Bad smirked as he sat down next to Clay.

“Wow, it’s not like it’s only been a day since we’ve talked, you muffin,” Bad put on a fake glare as he put his mouthpiece onto his horn.

“He can be a bit clingy sometimes,” George leaned back to talk with him, the reed sitting in his mouth only slightly altering his speech as he spoke. 

Bad snickered and smiled. He was glad to be back with his friends after a year apart. He’d missed them in the year he was away at college alone. Sure, he’d made some friends there, but nothing could replace these three.

____________________________________________________________________________

**September 4, 2016 12:26 A.M.**

It was late. So late, that Zak had started to let out small yawns every few minutes. He should be home, he knew it. He had to get up in six hours and lord knew how long it would take him to even fall asleep. Especially with that drive.

He let out a groan as he approached the glass doors to the building he was in. Of course it was pouring.

He knew he shouldn’t have stayed after his classes- they had ended at four. But he’d gotten caught up fooling around on a piano, and before he knew it, he’d been trying to transcribe the Minecraft theme onto his own blank sheet music.

Then, while searching for a good recording, he’d fallen down a youtube rabbit hole and now he was here.

At twelve thirty A.M.

Still at his darn school.

His darn, dark school, where the only light came from down the hallway to his left, and the moon streaming through the clear glass front of the building.

He huffed and muttered a few colorful words under his breath before opening the door and jogging through the cold air. 

For a moment, while he was underneath the awning of the building, all he felt was the chilly night sky surrounding him. That was until he made it out to the actual sidewalk and was pelted with the freezing rain coming down from all sides. He tucked his bag into his chest and ran a bit faster through the rain.

Luckily, the parking lot wasn’t too far away from the building, or else Zak was sure he’d freeze. Or at least catch cold.

He hurried himself into his vehicle and shut the door against the cold air threatening to infiltrate his space.

He zoned out a little as he pressed his brake and shifted his car out of park. He was thinking about the boy from earlier. The boy who had somehow ingrained himself into Zak’s memory. The boy who he just couldn’t seem to get out of his head. 

He wondered how he got into this school if piano obviously wasn’t his best instrument. Did he specialize in a band instrument? Orchestra? Strings? He was a walking enygma.

As Zak thought, he let his eyes wander over the road. His headlights made the pavement shine, and the colorful lights of the traffic signal outside of the school parking lot accentuated the pitch black of the night sky. Zak could clearly make out the silhouettes of signs and buildings and…

A person?

Walking in the rain?

A very familiar looking person at that.

Zak rolled to a stop at the side of the road and rolled down his window.

Sure enough, Darryl, the strange boy from the music room, was trudging through the rain, bathed in the light from the small street lamp above him. He looked like a mess. The rain had flattened his hair, and his coat clung to his small frame, making him appear slimmer in the night.

“Darryl?” Zak half shouted through the open window.

The boy perked up and looked at Zak, ceasing in his tracks.

“Do you want a ride home?”

Bad frantically nodded at Zak’s warm offer and scurried to the passenger door. Zak leaned over and opened it from the inside. Hey, he was taught to be a gentleman afterall. 

Darryl, dripping wet, collapsed into the seat. He looked like a drenched kitten. And he was shaking like one, too. His teeth chattered and his green eyes were clouded with something akin to exhaustion.

“Dude, you look like a mess.”

Darryl blinked for a moment and focused on Zak. “Yeah I got caught up with- Well with something. I was practicing.”

Zak tilted his head at how the boy backtracked, but let it slide. He didn’t want to push. “Can you enter your address into GPS or something before we get moving?”

Darryl nodded and fished his phone out of his back pocket. He clicked in an address, hands still shaking, and placed his phone on the dashboard. 

Zak fiddled with the heat and made sure it was full blast on the soaked boy in the passenger seat.

Before he started moving, he turned and looked Darryl in the eyes. “I’ve gotta ask, Darryl, why are you walking home in the rain?”

He shrugged and leaned back in the seat. “I totalled my car about three months ago, and I missed the bus tonight. It wasn’t a big deal, but then it started raining and got cold, and- Oh my goodness, I’m sorry to be a nuisance.”

Zak shook his head and put his car into drive. “You’re anything but. Besides I needed some company tonight, Darryl.”

Darryl’s head lolled to the left, and he smiled at Zak. “Thank you. And you can call me Bad.”

Zak thought for a second, back to their conversation that morning. Back to himself desperately running after the boy to learn his name. Back to meeting this strange boy.

“I thought only your friends called you that?”

Zak expected a reply, but instead only heard an echo of a reply. He was sure it was an affirmative.

One glance to his right confirmed that the boy had fallen asleep, tucked into himself and still shaking slightly. His wet hair was dripping onto Zak’s seats, but he couldn’t care less.

“Goodnight, Bad.”


	2. But It's The Way It Makes Me Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad realizes he's fallen once more in love with his violin, but will his rocky past allow him peace of mind?

**September 4, 2016 7:09 A.M.**

Everyone knew the story of Bad’s “break up” with the violin. Everyone had heard of his love for his instrument and his sheer talent when it came to the strings. Everyone knew the sour story of the day Bad sobbed into Clay’s arms and renounced the violin.

There was no coming back from that. He had abandoned an instrument, gone over a year without playing. Without even touching it. Love had turned to hatred in an instant, and that couldn’t be reversed.

Or, at least, that’s what everyone thought.

Everyone, in this case, meant Clay, George, and Nick, who had worried ever since he’d broken down in the parking lot of a concert hall up north. Who had worried ever since he started ignoring their texts last night, because he’d refused a ride home. Who had worried ever since he’d stayed after school until late at night for reasons none of them knew.

George thought he had the flu. 

It was a silly reason, but he stuck to it. After all, what was he supposed to think when he had watched the rain start to pour, knowing that Bad was still at school? Still at school and without a car, mind you. It was obvious that he was too stubborn to ask for help, so George had been the one to reach out.

“It’s fine,” Bad’s voice had crackled across the phone, “I’m going to be here pretty late, and I don’t want to be a bother.”

And that was always it, wasn’t it? He was too afraid of being a burden, a bother, to ask for help. He’d been like that since they met in middle school, sometimes going as far as to not even ask the teachers for help in certain subjects. It was utterly ridiculous, but also utterly _Bad_.

Bad was a kind heart, he was a light to everyone he knew. He was always eager to help out, yet when it came to asking for help he was so bad at it. 

He distinctly remembered a time in high school, Bad had volunteered to give private lessons to the middle school orchestral students. The only problem was, all eight violins showed up. Eight violins is insanely loud and insanely difficult to maintain control over, especially when they don’t know how to play their instruments. Yet Bad had only smiled and pulled a few extra chairs over to begin to help them.

And he did it every week for the rest of the year. He was too good for this world.

Bad constantly impressed George. Whether it be with his musical talent, his image of being somewhat put together, or just his timeliness, he never ceased to astound George.

That’s why he was, once again, astounded as he watched the city bus pull to a stop on their campus. A bus that Bad was supposed to be on. A bus that he didn’t exit.

_________________________________________________________________________

**September 4, 2016 7:30 A.M.**

Zak considered himself a good guy. He opened doors for people, always said please and thank you, and tried his best to offer help to those in need. It was something his mom had instilled in him from a very young age.

“Above everything else,” she had said to him on multiple occasions, “Be kind and be considerate. This world is nothing without good people.”

And she had been right. A lack of good people had always been a source of trouble for Zak.

At his old school, there were very few good people. His old friends, he had thought were good, but after piling into a car, driving to a convenience store, and coming out with trash bags worth of snacks one night, Zak had known he had to get away.

So he’d gotten a scholarship, moved halfway across the country, and was starting over.

Though, in the past year or so since he’d come to that college, he’d had more run-ins with bad people than he could count.

His part of the city was awful. That was probably why it was so cheap. It was scary, and sometimes he could hear questionable sounds- gunshots being a prominent recurrence.

The first time he had called the cops, they’d told him to calm down and get used to it if he were living there, and that had just ticked him off. Afterall, he wasn’t sad and scared of his part of the town, he was angry at the people who woke up and chose violence. He just couldn’t understand what would drive a person to do something they’d regret so much.

Everything was very black and white in Zak’s eyes. There were good people, and there were bad people. That was how the world worked, and usually it wasn’t too difficult to know who was who.

Zak had known a second after meeting the strange boy, Bad, yesterday, that he was inherently good. Which was a complete juxtaposition of his literal name. And that’s what baffled him, why choose to be called Bad if you are so good? Why choose to be called Bad if he seemed so flawless?

These were the thoughts that had plagued him late the night before, when said boy had fallen asleep in his car.

He was a quiet sleeper- Zak could barely hear him breathe, and he was only about a foot away from him. Every once in a while, he’d mumble something, and shift a little in his seat, probably the result of his awful sleeping position.

The campus was twenty minutes away from Bad's apartment. Twenty minutes by _car_ \- Zak didn’t want to think about Bad walking an hour in the rain to get home, it was just a sad thing to imagine. Zak hoped it wasn’t raining the next morning. Would Bad have to walk then?

Zak parked on the side of the road, next to a tall building. He wondered how much Bad was paying for rent- his apartment building seemed nice, and it was right outside of the extravagant theater district.

He shrugged and turned to the sleeping boy. It was almost painful to wake him up, his eyes fluttering open and closed as he groaned.

“Hey, Bad, buddy,” Zak shook his shoulder, and without thinking, brushed his hair away from his face. He had always been a tactile person, he just hoped it didn’t scare away his new friend. “Bad, we’re here.”

He let a smile slip onto his face as he mumbled something incoherent and stretched before rubbing frantically at his eyes. He still looked dead, exhausted, but Zak needed to get him inside so he could actually sleep.

“Come on.” He leaned forward, and rubbed Bad’s back a bit. “It’s late and we’ve got class early tomorrow.”

Bad didn’t bother correcting him and looked out the car window. He smiled and let his tired eyes drift up to his new friend. “Yeah, thank you for the ride.”

He turned to get out, not eager to step into the downpour, but the sound of Zak’s voice stopped him.

“Do you want a ride back tomorrow morning? The bus can get kinda crowded?”

And now they were here, goofing off together in his car and singing- albeit very badly, they were musicians, not singers- to just about anything they heard on the radio.

“Okay, but how many songs do you think we’ve listened to that have the same four chords over and over?” Bad asked through a giggle, “Seriously I love Pompeii, but the chord progression is so basic!”

Zak only smiled as he responded, “I’ve been waiting to discuss chords with someone. I, personally, enjoy the “Epic Dramatic” progression.”

Bad gave him a look and Zak snickered. “That’s not a thing!”

“Umm, yes it is,” He rolled his eyes dramatically, trying to keep a straight face, “It’s my own personal invention. Em G A Am B7. It sounds pretty cool if I do say so myself!”

He giggled again and shook his head. “I’ll take your word for it.”

They finally arrived at the campus, a series of five large buildings and an outskirt of dorms surrounding them. Bad remembered his first time laying his eyes on the campus. It had been so overwhelming, and his hands had shook as he’d carried his heavy horn case through the doors of the centermost building.

Now, he was walking into the building with a new friend, laughing about everything and sharing stories. He hadn’t felt this carefree, this happy, since-

Well, he didn’t want to admit it to himself really, but talking to Zak, he got the same feeling he used to get while playing his violin.

An eager, beautiful happiness. It felt like running around on a refreshing spring day, soft grass beneath your feet and the sun shining down as the birds sang. Like spending a rainy day inside and reading a good book with a cup of warm tea (George would be proud of how British that sounded). It felt like the feeling he’d get at the end of a concert. Like nothing else mattered, only this moment, this one thing. Like he could bask in what he’d just done for an eternity, but really it was only a single moment. He was so in the moment though, so concentrated on what happened, that by the time he’d finish a concert, there’d be nothing left to be nervous about and, for just a second, everything would be perfect.

And that’s what this boy reminded him of. Everything he missed. Everything he longed to do again, despite what he had told his other friends and the decision he’d made a year ago.

And wasn’t that such a horrible realization? To understand that the thing that makes you happiest in life, you could just give up in an instant? It soured Bad’s mood but he didn’t let it show.

For the summer months after senior year, he’d still been at home. Every night he went to bed and had to deal with the guilt of his violin case sitting, stagnant, across the room. He knew there was dust gathering on it. He would have never let that happen before.

When he packed to move into his apartment, he realized he’d have to leave his instrument at home, and he felt broken once more. He’d never left it for more than a week, and was almost scared to.

So he’d told himself it was too expensive to not have with him, and he’d taken it.

Then came the long nights alone, with nothing but his guilt to keep him company. He knew it was inevitable, that despite what he had said, he would end up crawling back to his violin. It was only a matter of time.

That’s why, one night in early October, he wasn’t surprised when he felt himself drift over to his case and slowly unzip it. He wasn’t surprised as he polished the hygrometer on the inside of the case, happy to see it was in the normal range. He wasn’t surprised as he shimmied the shoulder rest around the instrument and plucked at its strings. They weren’t too out of tune, but still flat.

And so he went about a routine he hadn’t completed in ages. Tighten the bow, sweep the Paganini brand rosin across once, twice, six times, making sure to be extra thorough on both the tip and down near the frog.

He adjusted the strings by ear, something he was blessed with being able to do after having trained his ears since elementary school. Even so, he still kept a tuning fork in his case for good measure.

He tightened the strings, taking a little longer on the e-string’s fine tuner, but before he knew it, his violin was there, and he didn’t know if he felt whole or empty.

That was his routine last year, his guilty pleasure- wait until it’s late and you’ve lost all sense of right and wrong, and return to your lost love.

A month into this, he got noise complaints, and realized he’d need to do this another time, and in another place.

Besides, he figured if he moved his violin to an empty locker at the school, it wouldn’t guilt trip him in the middle of the night anymore.

Zak was different, though. He wasn’t a guilty pleasure. He wasn’t something to be ashamed of. He was just a nice boy he’d barely known for a day. 

So they went their separate ways when they walked into the building, Zak going to his “awful theory class” and Bad skipping down the hall to go to the music room on the second floor. The music room where he had been caught butchering Chopin. The music room where he hadn’t just been practicing the piano. The music room where his violin sat, looking abandoned, but still receiving love and being practiced, in secret, every day.

____________________________________________________________________________

**September 9, 2016 5:32 P.M.**

“Did you guys hear about the concert the university’s hosting for ‘Young, Upcoming Talent?’” Nick made quotations with his fingers as he leaned further into the couch. They were all at Bad’s apartment, getting together on their Sunday off.

“Is it a competition or just a concert?” Bad asked as he watched George and Clay goof off in front of them. They were all grouped in Bad’s small, messy living room, a place that reflected, in simplest terms, who he was.

It was a small area, but he took up every inch of space. There was a television on the left wall, and a couch of the right, a small coffee table sitting between the two. On the third wall, all the way across from his front door, a Yamaha keyboard he’d gotten when he was seventeen was pushed up against the large window. There was a door out to a patio next to the window, and a door to his bedroom next to the couch. In a corner of the room, a guitar was leaned precariously against the wall. There were shelves too, the kind that attached to his cream walls with simple Ls of metal underneath them. They held everything from books, to figurines, to DVDs.

“It’s a concert.” Nick grabbed a second piece of pizza from the coffee table, and flicked Clay on the ear while he was leaned over. Clay and George were currently sitting on the floor playing Call of Duty, and being very loud. “I heard something about how it’s to help talent agents discover more instrumentalists and vocalists. I was thinking about trying out.”

Bad thought about it for a moment. He’d been a part of more concerts than he could count, and had practiced for at least six the year before. If he were to join, it would most likely be his first concert of the year, so he would have time to practice. “When are auditions?”

“Next month.” Nick took a second to swallow his food. “The drum major in the marching band said he was writing an advanced marimba piece, and I want to see if he’ll let me play it.”

Bad wasn’t in the marching band. He knew how to play the mellophone, but would much rather stick with the French horn and take a classical route through school. After all, it wasn’t like they had a team to play for, they were a competitive band only.

“I think that’s a good idea.” Bad jumped as George started screaming.

“No, Clay! Why would you?” He banged his controller on the ground- he had died in-game. He turned to Nick and Bad and frowned. “None of the clarinets want to enter, so I can’t do a quartet like I had wanted.”

“Can you do that Rhapsody in Blue excerpt you’d been thinking about?” asked Nick.

George shrugged, and then stood up to stretch. “I don’t even know if I’ll enter, I’ve got a lot going on right now.”

Everyone frowned and Bad let out a sigh. If George would learn to be more confident while playing, it would do him a world of good. He had always been shy, even on his first day at their school in middle school. Granted, it didn’t help that people used his accent to single him out.

He’d only really come out of his shell when he’d befriended Clay.

“I’m being forced into a duet with that stupid, self-taught literature major from the university down south,” Clay interrupted, laying back into Bad’s knees as he spoke. “We’ve been at each other's throats for years, and he has the audacity to propose a duet?”

Nick cackled, a deep sound, as he clutched his arms around his stomach. “At least you’ll finally know his _name_!”

Bad rolled his eyes. The boy they were talking about was a renowned trumpeter that Clay had been meeting in competitions since freshman year. He’d never learned his name, but a lot of people simply just called him “The Blade.” It was silly, but it stemmed from a story about him unclogging his trumpet with a pocket knife, which is infinitely less impressive than the name itself. Bad shuddered to think about what could have clogged his instrument.

The one time he’d had an issue like that, he spent an hour looking for his mouthpiece, only to realize that it was lodged inside of the bell of his horn.

Bad thought about this concert. He’d had this burning urge to play out for months now, but he was afraid. What if he did badly again? He didn’t want to learn to hate his instrument because of his own shortcomings, but he also didn’t want to let his talent go to waste.

Besides, he didn’t even have an accompanist. He didn’t even know any pianists.

What would he even play? Paganini seemed a little advanced, and if it was limited to a single piece per person, he didn’t want something he could mess up so easily to be his debut piece (re-debut?). Though, if this was a showcase for talent agencies, he needed to do something advanced.

He was getting ahead of himself. He was _not_ playing for people again.

He couldn’t.

____________________________________________________________________________

**September 10, 2016 8:42 A.M.**

Zak had gotten out of theory earlier than usual. The professor had to be across campus for his next class, so he had adjourned class twenty minutes before it was needed.

He was almost positive that his practice room would be busy right now, and he had secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of Bad playing piano again. He wanted to know if he truly had any classical training, or was just caught off guard.

They’d been spending more time together lately, and Zak wasn't complaining. After Bad had told him about his lack of car, he’d opted to drive him to the campus each morning, and at night, if they were leaving at the same time. Zak usually left earlier than Bad- he had a job, afterall, nothing fancy, he was a server at a local restaurant.

Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure where Bad worked. He wasn’t even sure what instruments he played.

But that’s why he had to investigate.

He neared the practice room. It was at the end of the hall near a window, a very pretty view. The room itself, while lined with a few shelves along the back wall, also had a window to gaze out on the campus.

And as Zak got closer, his smile melted into a confused look. Maybe Bad wasn’t in the room? Maybe it had been wishful thinking.

It wasn’t the lack of music that set Zak on edge, rather the lack of piano music. For inside of the room, he could hear the faint sound of a violin, soaring in the rafters and playing something so simple, yet so sweet. There was a trill, and then this practiced vibrato.

Zak was enthralled. This was amazing, beautiful. His old school hadn’t had the money for an orchestra program, so it was a million times more special to hear a string instrument like this.

Zak lingered for a moment, not wanting to invade a stranger’s practice, but also just wanting to hear as much of this sound as possible. He was leaning to turn away when what sounded like a gunshot rang through the hall.

Panicked, Zak burst through the door. He was embarrassed that it was his instinct to simply barge in, but that noise had sounded awful.

“Is everything al-”

His voice died out.

Bad was standing in front of the window, silhouetted in the sky. His bangs were pulled back, and he was breathing heavily. In his lithe hands, he gently held a violin. His bow dangled from his ring finger.

“Muffins.” Bad was focused on his violin. The strings looked off, too loose. “Hi Zak.”

“Hey Bad,” Zak stepped towards the struggling boy. His glasses were pushed up, and he was trying to see through the f shaped holes in the belly of his instrument. “What are you doing? What was that sound? Are you okay?”

Bad let out a sigh of what looked like relief and straightened up a bit. “I’m fine, I didn’t tune my instrument all weekend, and apparently the temperature was a little iffy over the weekend.”

“I’m gonna pretend like I know what that means.”

Bad smiled and let out a laugh. “It means that the strings got super loose, and the bridge tilted a bit more than it should.”

He ran his hand across his instrument and sat down on the piano bench. He reached down to the floor to grab something as he spoke. “When I tightened the strings, they put so much pressure on it that it fell over. That’s what the noise was.”

Zak’s eyes widened and he caught Bad’s eyes. “I have so many questions, but since when are you a violinist.”

He watched the boy loosen the violin strings and level the instrument on his lap. “That’s a tough question to answer. Can you please hold this steady so I can get the bridge in right?”

Zak knelt in front of Bad and held the instrument tightly. With one trained hand, Bad held the bridge upright, and with the other, expertly tightened the strings. He let his lips fall into a smirk when he was done.

“Thank you.” Zak nodded but neither moved. His hands had slid to rest on Bad’s knees, and for a moment they were both still.

Bad looked like he was thinking, and he was.

He was thinking about the showcase, about Rachmaninoff. He thought about Zak’s hands on his knees and how they spent their time running across piano keys with such a delicate touch. He wondered how he managed to hit all the keys if his hands were only a little larger than his own. Maybe he’d stretch them like Schumann, he mused.

He cleared his throat and stood up. Zak leaned back, and stretched.

“I’ll get out of your hair now.” Bad moved to the back of the room and began packing up his instrument. He wiped the rosin dust off of the dark wood, and slid his shoulder rest off of the body of the violin. He delicately strapped it in its case and slipped the loosened bow in as well. He had a frown on his face, but wasn’t necessarily unhappy.

Zak watched as Bad zipped his case, but instead of taking it with him, he left it on the shelf and turned to leave the room.

“Bad, your instrument?” Zak prompted. Bad seemed worlds away from when he had played before. From when he had held it in his hands. The weight of the world was back on his shoulders now. He seemed so unhappy as he left his instrument.

“It doesn’t go home with me.”

And Bad walked rigidly away.

____________________________________________________________________________

**September 12, 2016 11:32 P.M.**

To be honest, Bad was surprised he was leaving this early.

Lately, he’d been on campus more than he’d been at home. He only practiced, and mulled over difficult decisions.

Well, a difficult decision.

He’d figured out that strings auditions were a week before wind instruments, and he was absolutely terrified. This was an actual decision that he had to make. And he only had a few weeks to practice and find an accompanist- if he even decided to pursue the opportunity.

It was just too much.

So there he was, exiting a practice room he’d never intended to be in.

He’d assumed Zak had already gone home. Afterall, it was a Wednesday night, and Bad didn’t expect Zak to drive him everywhere. That would be inconsiderate. It would be rude.

Yet, as Bad made his way into the dry night, he was surprised to hear a very familiar voice cursing for the entire street to hear.

“Zak, language!” Bad jogged over to where his friend was leaning heavily over the front of his car. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it on the outside, but Bad could bet that wasn’t actually the case.

“What are you? My mom?” Zak snickered and ran a dirty hand through his hair. He looked out of breath, but then again he had probably just spent half an hour hitting his car. “The battery’s dead, I need to jump start it.”

Bad noticed the distinct lack of another vehicle around them, and stamped his foot. “You’ll probably have to do it in the morning when there are actual people here, unless you can call so-”

Zak shook his head. “I tried eight people, and I guess they are all either ignoring me, or asleep.”

He knew the troubles of a dead car battery. His old Volkswagen had rarely run without problems, all the way until its valiant end. 

“How long of a walk back to your place?” Bad tilted his head when he spoke, and moved to stand next to Zak. 

“Too long. And it’s a sketchy place too. I get nervous just walking from my car to my apartment.” Zak sighed. He knew that that apartment was a bad idea. He had assumed it would only be temporary, when he first started living there, but a year and some change later, and he was still sleeping in the same dark, ruddy bedroom.

Bad looked up for a second before saying something neither of them expected.

“I’m an hour away- tops. Just sleep at my place tonight.”

And, while it wasn’t an uncomfortable thing to suggest- the two had spent so much time together in the week and a half since they’d met, it had felt like years- it still wasn’t something either of them had seen coming.

So, they walked down the street together, the moon bright above them. They made talk about nothing, and Zak saw Bad how he was supposed to be. Happy, at ease. He had the same expression he’d held two days ago while fixing his violin. He seemed carefree, in the moment. Like nothing else mattered but the two of them, and their walk home.

Zak felt like a main character. Like he was the star of his own film. Bad’s attention was on him alone, and they had nowhere to be. The world was theirs, and they both knew it.

He didn’t want to ruin the night, but there was something that seemed so serious grating on his mind. He had gathered it was a sore subject, but he had never been one to hold things in for too long.

“What’s with the violin?” Zak watched the smile fall from Bad’s face as he proposed the change in topic. “You seem so content when it’s in your hands, but you always react the same when I bring it up.”

Bad sighed and his bottom lip quivered a bit. “It’s a long story.”

“Look around, man, we’ve got nothing but time.” Zak gave a faint smile and gestured wildy to the air around them.

But Bad didn’t feel like talking about it. He didn’t want to discuss it. He didn’t want to face something that had been such an issue for so long. He didn’t want Zak to think less of him.

And, yeah, he knew it was immature, dramatic, to lie to someone who was on the way to being your best friend, but at that moment he wasn’t really thinking.

“Yeah, I’m just nervous about a showcase is all,” and apparently Bad’s subconscious had made a decision for him right then and there. “The auditions are in less than a month.”

Apparently, Bad was going to audition.

Zak reeled, and cheered in the air. “That’s so cool! From what I heard, you are awesome, you’re totally gonna win!”

“It’s not a competition,” Bad snickered.

“Whatever! Be quiet!” Zak skipped around Bad joyously. “You’re gonna win.”

“Shush,” Bad struggled to think of a playful insult, “Skippy.”

“What?” Zak stopped in his tracks. The wind blew through his hair, and caused it to rustle around.

“‘Cause you were skipping, get it?” Bad was blushing furiously now, and he was glad they hadn’t stopped under a street light. 

“Dude, that’s a peanut butter, isn’t it?” He burst out laughing. “That’s so gross.”

His laugh echoed on the buildings around them, and Bad was momentarily terrified that someone would hear them, or that they’d wake someone from being too loud. But it’s a city, he thought, it’s used to loud. Besides, the night belonged to them.

“Skeppy, then,” Bad said after a pause, and Zak smiled.

“Sure.”

And in that moment, as they neared Bad’s messy home. He knew that they’d go inside and have a good night. He’d have to make himself comfortable on the couch and let Zak have his bed. It was only to be a good host, he thought, a good friend. The thought of where Lucy would sleep that night crossed his mind- would she sleep in the comfort of his room, or elect to stay outside with her owner?

Would Bad sleep comfortably knowing who was on the other side of the thin wall?

Would Zak be comfortable staying with him?

It was with all these questions in mind that he realized an answer. Something that had been so painfully obvious for as long as it had been plaguing him.

“Hey Skeppy?” he could practically hear Zak roll his eyes as the name slid off his tongue. “Would you please consider being my accompanist?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Leticia Fox for being an amazing beta reader!!
> 
> Also, fun fact, the mouthpiece getting stuck in the French horn bell thing? Yeah, that was based on personal experience. It took us at least twenty minutes to find the mouthpiece.
> 
> Another fun fact, the bridge popping off on Bad's violin? Yeah, that happened to me too. And it really does sound like a gunshot! It's terrifying!
> 
> Once again, most of this story is based on personal experience (Especially how the concert band is arranged, I know a lot of schools do it differently, but that's how ours is).
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	3. And It Isn't The Way It's Played

**September 15, 2016 1:45 P.M.**

It was a Saturday. A day to lounge around and do absolutely nothing. It was a universal policy- school’s were out, many people were off work, restaurants and movie theaters were filled. It was a day of no stress and recreation.

Zak usually liked Saturdays. For all it was worth, he usually got at least five hours to sit around and play video games. Sometimes, he even allowed himself a day off of practice despite the fact that his instructor would kill him if he found out.

This Saturday, however, he was not playing video games. He was not messing around on his piano. He was not watching a movie.

Instead, Zak was in an empty auditorium, sitting at a piano, watching as the cute boy- quickly growing into a good friend- played his heart out on an instrument he was still nervous to play.

Now, he wasn’t necessarily unhappy. Afterall, spending time with Bad was leaps and bounds more fun than sitting around at home. However, he felt out of place. Like he was in the way.

The last time he had played with other people was back in high school jazz band, and that had been a mess. 

Bad looked like he was enjoying himself. He didn’t smile when he played, but he had a face of content concentration as he bowed back and forth. His eyes were trained on the music stand in front of him- a portable wire one that took every chance to fall down. Zak wasn’t sure what he was playing, but it was incredibly fast, and Bad had to shift his hand at least every few seconds.

He was incredible.

The song had such an unrelenting tempo, it looked like he could barely keep up with himself. Yet he sounded so sophisticated in his intonation. He’d hit a note on the lowest string, and play a series on the highest in third position, continuing the pattern until he’d reach this middle two strings. The scroll on his instrument rocked back and forth as he played, and Zak found himself wondering what proper violin etiquette was while playing.

Bad’s notes stopped as he landed on two strings, and then a third, and then finally settled with two fingers on the e-string, his wrists moving back and forth and bringing his fingers with it. That beautifully practiced vibrato rang out as the song came to an end.

It was only a few minutes of playing, but it had seemed like an eternity.

“I was thinking about adding that to our list,” Bad was wiping the rosin off of the wooden belly of his violin. “It’s Paganini’s nineteenth caprice. I’d like to play it, but I don’t want to show off.”

Zak grappled through the sheet music on the piano he was sitting at. They had practiced so many pieces over the past week, just trying to find something that sounded great. Pieces by Bach, Bartok, and, Zak’s personal favorite, Amy Beach. He hadn’t seen any Paganini though.

“The piano accompaniment is by Schumann,” Bad almost read his thoughts, “Paganini was a master on the strings, but never wrote any piano accompaniment. So, years into the future, Schumann took it upon himself to write your part.”

And wasn’t that a weird way to put it. Write _his_ part. Like this music had travelled centuries to be held in _his_ hands. At his piano. At his university. It was so personal.

One thing Bad had taught Zak was that he didn’t believe in accidents. Whatever happened, be it good or bad, he believed had a greater purpose. Maybe this was another one of those things. Maybe he truly thought that these pieces were written to be played by the two boys who had met by chance a week and a half beforehand.

And that was the beauty of it. That Bad could possibly believe their friendship was fate. Destiny.

“Can we run through it a bit slower, so I can learn it?” Zak Straightened his posture and arranged the music in front of him.

“Certainly, Skeppy,” Bad let a smile light up his face as he said the nickname. “I need to correct a whole bunch of things anyway. That last little run through was absolutely awful.”

Zak shook his head. “Better than I’ve ever heard.”

Bad counted them in, and Zak turned his concentration to his eyes and his hands. He and Bad were perfectly in time with one another, and Zak thought it had something to do with how much time they spent together. Heck, after staying the night at Bad’s on Wednesday, they had practically been inseparable. 

Zak had felt like he was invading Bad’s space, as they had walked up the stairs to his apartment. He didn’t want to displace the man, and he had planned to try and stay out of his hair as much as possible.

Of course, things don’t always go to plan.

Bad’s apartment was homey, but also relatively messy. There were blankets strewn across his dark couch, and books on his coffee table. A mug sat abandoned on a surface next to the arm of the couch.

Across the room, his keyboard had music scattered across the keys. Arrangements of Rachmaninoff for class, original compositions written in fine pencil, and things Zak didn’t even recognize. The walls were cream, the floor wood, and there was a comfy rug on the ground under the table.

Bad had taken a few moments to deposit his house key into a plate next to the door. There was this little inlet of a kitchen, before the actual living room began, and Zak was just lingering there.

As he glanced around the room, a little white dog came running out of a door on the right wall. It was tiny, no taller than Zak’s shins, and had its little pink tongue hanging out of its mouth.

“Hi Lucy!” Bad’s voice went up an octave as he knelt on the ground. The dog went bounding happily over to him. “Did you have a good day home? I’m sorry I was gone so long, baby!”

This was Bad. This was pure, uncut, unchanged Bad. Sitting, petting his dog, and excitedly whispering things about muffins. Zak watched as his friend smiled ear to ear, and he was happy.

He dropped his bag next to the couch and made himself comfortable on the edge, shoving away the blankets and pulling out his phone to charge it. Bad passed through his peripheral vision, and moved to sit down next to him.

“Sorry about the mess,” Bad shrugged himself out of his hoodie, “I usually spend my time at home taking care of Rat, and practicing.”

Zak accepted the name for the dog and nodded his head. It was a weird night, but a good night.

He’d slept in Bad’s bedroom, despite protesting the entire time he was being ushered into the small room. Bad had a twin bed covered in a tangle of sheets and comforters, there were lights and posters on his walls, and he had a laptop charging in the corner of the room. It was nice.

He’d fallen asleep to the sounds of Rat padding around the living room.

Over the next few days, they’d arranged times to practice. It seemed they were both relatively free during the nights and on weekends, which would take a lot out of both of them, but Zak believed Bad deserved the world, so he could take a few hours out of his days to help him out.

And that’s why they were there now, taking Paganini ninteen at eighty beats per minute, and playing together for the first time. But they both understood that it wouldn’t be the last.

____________________________________________________________________________

**September 23, 2016 4:19 P.M.**

“You look horrible.” 

There was a pause as Bad registered the words, and he glared at his friend. Nick was sitting in the drivers side of his car, opting to give Bad a ride to work that night. The violinist didn’t work everyday, but what he did paid pretty well. 

“Thanks, Nick, you never fail to raise my self esteem,” he sent him a mock smile and focused his eyes on the road ahead.

“Dang, I’m not trying to raise your self esteem, I’m trying to look out for your health,” he wasn’t smiling back. He looked dead serious. “You look like you haven’t slept in days, and I know you’ve lost weight. Lord knows when the last time you ate was. I haven’t even spent time with you in at least a week. Your attention is somewhere else.”

It was accurate, his attention had been elsewhere. His secret endeavor to audition. His new friend. His classes. His violin. He was stretched thin, and it wasn’t a good thing.

“Whatever, I see you everyday in concert band, pay more attention.” It was deflection. A simple technique to divert attention onto the other person. It wasn’t nice, but Bad was _tired_ he didn’t want to deal with this right now.

“But you show no obligation outside of school.” Nick slammed his hands down on the steering wheel and looked Bad in the eyes. “You used to engage with us, man, what’s happened?”

He gazed into his lap, fiddling with his hands. He should have walked.

What was the harm in telling him? Was it embarrassment over abandoning what he was best at? Devotion to his feelings? Why was it so _hard_?

“I’ve been busy.”

Nick leveled a stare at Bad, and, just like that, he cracked.

“Nick,” the silence was deafening. “Nick, I’ve started playing again. I’m auditioning for the showcase with my violin.”

And the silence continued, coursing through the car and hanging tense in the air. Nick’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and Bad tilted his head to look into his friend’s eyes. They were glassy, watery. And his lips quivered before pulling into a smile.

“It’s about damn time.”

He reached over and hugged Bad tightly with his right arm. Bad muttered a “Language,” but nevertheless smiled into his friend’s embrace. He felt like he was home. Like he was back to normal.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a year and a half,” Nick released, and patted Bad’s shoulder. They reached a red light, and he didn’t hesitate to turn towards Bad. “No matter what happens. No matter how you perform, or anything that troubles you, don’t you ever give up on that again. Never.”

Bad giggled and nodded his head. “I’m done running from past failures.”

Nick grinned, his hair falling down in front of his face, dangling over the tie that usually rested around his head. “Do you need an accompanist? I can ask around.”

“I’ve- uh,” Bad gave a nervous laugh, “Actually I’ve found someone.”

Nick’s eyes widened and his face flushed. “Wait _someone_? Is she pretty?”

Bad covered his mouth with his hands and sputtered, “No! No no no, not like that! He’s a pianist I met a few weeks ago, nothing more.”

Nothing more. That was what Bad had said. It didn’t- It didn’t feel right. In just three weeks, they’d become so close, how could he just dismiss it as “Nothing more.”

“Is he in a group class? I usually talk to some of those pianists between classes, I may know him.” Nick went on about how he loved pianists, and how they were technically percussionists, and how if Nick were a pianist, he’d develop a new style and incorporate natural percussion while playing to give it a new feel.

But all Bad could think about was this strange boy who he’d grown slow close to. This boy who, despite everything, he’d still blatantly lied to. Why was it bothering him so much? Why was this so scary?

That was life, he guessed, a scary game where one move could hurt you forever. Growing close to someone meant giving them your trust. It meant understanding that you’d both see the best and worst of each other. He knew this, he had experience with it.

Clay, he’d known forever. The boy from preschool who’d been held back after being absent too often (three bouts of flu in a year went way over the absence limit). Clay was closest to being his best friend, afterall, for the longest time they’d done everything together. Clay had all of his trust.

Soon after, George and Nick, the two boys from across town who went to middle school with them, gained that privilege, too. They were a group, the four of them. No one had been added to that group in so long, it almost felt taboo to meet someone new.

Why was this such a big deal to him?

Goodness, he needed to get his mind off of this.

His job, luckily, allowed enough socializing to clear his head, but not too much to exhaust him. He used his mediocre piano skills on weekends to play at different events in the area. Tonight, he was filling in for a classical pianist at a local restaurant, meaning he’d most likely make a good amount of tips as well. Friday nights, Saturday nights, and Sundays, he was out late, solely so he could make enough to pay his rent. 

He thanked Nick for the ride, and walked into the restaurant, ready to serenade rich people to their heart’s content.

____________________________________________________________________________

**September 28, 2016 12:45 A.M.**

Zak had already known his sleep schedule was destroyed, but practicing with Bad certainly did not benefit it. He had no idea how they even managed to stay on campus that late. He didn’t even know if it was allowed, but either way, it was almost one in the morning, and they were only just packing up.

The showcase auditions only held enough time for one song per person or ensemble, they only had the main auditorium for a day, afterall. However, the actual showcase would include ten groups playing two to three pieces each. They wanted the musicians to be able to demonstrate different techniques and styles, and figured this was the best way to do it.

So, he and Bad had decided to begin with an excerpt from Vivaldi’s Violin Concerto in A Minor, something well known, it would ease them into their performance. They would go on to play the Paganini piece, Zak was finally able to play the accompaniment to speed, which was good considering that auditions were in three days, and that was the song they were using.

The last piece was something of a sentiment- Chopin’s Mazurka in A Minor. The song Bad had been playing the first time the two of them had met.

It was originally a piano piece, but they had found a good arrangement for violin, and added in a few flourishes for the sake of Bad’s playing coming across more elegant. Though, it was easy for Zak just simple chords to remember every once in a while.

They had the songs down pat, the only reason they were still practicing so long everyday was because Bad was unhappy with himself. It was always something. His bowings were off, his vibrato wasn’t sounding natural, his fingers weren’t in the right place, he wasn’t on time.

Zak thought he sounded perfect, though, every single playthrough they had. Bad was perfect.

Zak yawned, and put his sheet music into his folder. This one was red and had the words “Bad’s Showcase Music” written in sloppy handwriting on the front, with a little doodle of a face with a tongue sticking out courtesy of Bad. Where previously there had been a thick stack of sheet music, there now was only the Vivaldi accompaniment- it was the longest, and Zak had yet to memorize it all.

Bad, however, had everything down, and hadn’t taken out his sheet music in at least two days. It was a surprise he was able to read it, honestly, with the amount of notes and symbols written in. 

“Come on,” Zak came up behind Bad as he zipped up his case, and let his hand drift up to hold his shoulder, “Let’s get going, I’ve got class in seven hours.”

Bad nodded sleepily, and grabbed his violin case. The good thing about being a pianist, Zak mused, was that he didn’t have to lug his instrument around everywhere he went, he just had to show up.

Wait.

This was out of the ordinary.

Since when did Bad take his instrument home?

Zak was going to bring it up, but then he looked at Bad slipping on his coat. As he slung his backpack across a shoulder. As he picked up the case in his left hand- a habit he had assumed was long forgotten.

_It doesn’t go home._

Apparently, it does.

He slung an arm around Bad’s shoulder, and pulled him close, beginning to guide the both of them out of the room. The violin case bumped against their knees, and he could have sworn he felt Bad lean in to the touch. He was tired, he could give himself this.

“‘Geppy?” Bad said in a small voice as Zak flicked down the light switch. He hummed in response.

“Do you think we’ll get in?”

“I have no doubt,” Zak was entirely certain. “You are the most brilliant musician I’ve ever heard. You play more instruments than I can count, you compose, you can play by ear, and you make everything sound so pleasant. You are going to make the showcase, and you are going to be noticed beyond belief.”

Bad nodded and smiled sadly. “Thank you, I just worry.”

He wanted to know why Bad was so hesitant to perform. He was good? Why was he so nervous? Certainly he’d performed before, right? Zak found it difficult to believe that he’d gone his whole life without playing out.

“You’ve performed before, right.” It was a stupid question, he knew, he just needed to ask for his peace of mind.

“Yes, of course.”

And that led Zak back to his original question.

What was holding Bad back?

____________________________________________________________________________

**October 1, 2016 9:12 A.M.**

Bad was tuning his violin, and Zak felt useless. There were so many people gathered into this one tiny room- pianists, violinists, trumpeters, percussionists, vocalists- everything. It was crowded.

He wished he could be doing something to prepare, but instead he just had to stand, nervously sweating, and wait for their turn. They auditioned at nine-thirty. It wouldn’t be too long now.

Zak was going over fingerings in his head when he heard a sound directed at him. Looking up, he locked eyes with a blonde boy he had never seen before. A blonde boy who was walking very close to his and Bad’s corner. A blonde boy who looked so surprised, he was about to faint.

“Bad?” he gasped and Bad looked up, surprised. “Are you- I don’t believe it.”

Bad looked down and his arms, still full of violin, wrapped around himself. “Hi, Clay.”

Clay was a tall man, taller than both Zak and Bad. He was dressed now in a green, button-up shirt. (The event was casual, but dressing somewhat nicely was still encouraged.) He carried a trumpet in his left hand.

He moved forward to envelope Bad in a bone crushing hug, being wary of both their instruments as he did so. “I’m so proud of you, man.”

And Zak knew he was missing something, but it slipped his mind as he was sucked into the conversation. “Who’s your friend?”

“Zak this is Clay,” Bad smiled at them both and he gave the boy a firm handshake. “Clay this is Zak, my accompanist.”

Clay smiled, and another boy came to stand next to him. He was daunting, but completely familiar.

“Nerd, we’re on in literally sixty seconds, wrap it up.” He muttered with a glare. The guy locked eyes with Zak and gave him a nod.

“Techno!” he waved. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

“Okay.”

Bad cringed and Clay gave him a final smile. “Good luck, dude. I’m happy to see you playing again.”

And they were back to being nervous. Zak didn’t want to bring up a sore subject, but it was really bothering him. What did that new boy mean about Bad not playing? About being proud of him? Zak felt so out of the loop. He felt like he didn’t even know Bad.

He turned to ask, but the boy already looked scared out of his wits. It was best not to bring up something serious.

“Hey,” he nudged Bad a bit, causing him to look up into his eyes. “We’ll do great, got it?”

“Sure, you muffin.”

Bad knew he should have responded with more, but that was all he could manage. He wanted- no, he needed- to change the subject. Anything but his performance.

“So you know Clay’s rival, huh?” Bad thought about how annoyed he’d been being forced into the duet, but they seemed to be getting along alright.

“Yeah we go a few years back,” Zak said, his hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. “But I haven’t talked to him in ages. I didn’t even know he was still playing trumpet.”

He watched Zak think for a second and then frown. “That’s going to be one loud duet.”

They made small talk for the ten minutes they had left, nervous and stiff conversation that each was participating in for the benefit of the other. For a few moments, they almost forgot about their nerves.

And then nine-thirty came along.

Bad was shaking, and Zak was sure he had sweat stains down every fold of his collared shirt. It was now or never. This was what decided everything they’d been working towards.

Zak went onto the stage first. He was allowed to have sheet music with him, but dismissed the page turner when he sat down.this music was ingrained so deeply into his head, he’d been playing it in his sleep.

When he was settled, Bad strutted out onto the stage, looking like a new man. He’d somber his hair back with his fingers, and straightened his glasses. He wasn’t shaking anymore, he looked like he had done this a million times. Like he knew he would ace the audition.

Bad played his open strings, adjusting the pegs slightly before standing still. 

This was what decided everything. Zak’s hands were shaking. He could not ruin this for Bad.

Bad swung his scroll to count in and began. The song started with double stops- playing two strings at once. Two Es in this case, and it went on for three bars. The timing was weird, accented with fermadas, but Bad knew just how long to hold each one, and was prepared for the jump in tempo when Zak came in.

It was exhilarating. Bad’s fingers flew across the board, slurring down and slurring back up, his hand constantly in either third or fifth position. He knew there were judges staring at him, and while the thought had been terrifying before, he hadn’t realized how much he missed playing for others. The lights were shining on his face and his brow beaded with sweat, but this?

This was where he belonged.

He played his heart out, and the notes got higher and higher. Yet he always had to come back down for the series of double stops that followed. The volume was increasing, crescendoing.

He reflected on what led him here. His freak out the last time he played. How his life spiraled after he quit. He totalled his vehicle- running into someone who had their turn signal on, but hadn’t been turning. It had him hospitalized for a week, and he hadn’t owned a car since. He thought about when he moved into the college dorms, only to find out that his roommate was a horrible person. He had people over every night and they did things Bad never wanted to hear. 

So he’d gotten his own apartment, but had no friends in the area. He spent all of his time devoted to his music and nothing but. And then he’d met such a strange, lovely boy after a long summer filled with nothing but music and summer courses.

His fingers moved up, it was time for the high riff. They had practiced this at a normal paced tempo, but Bad pushed to speed up. He just thought it sounded better if they accented the end of the song by going faster.

In a purely musical agreement, Zak complied. He played his chords faster, and, unbeknownst to Bad, shot him a proud smile.

He was in his element, framed in golden light, almost forming a halo above his head. He was perfect and he was playing faster and faster and-

Simultaneously, the two slowed down. They were only a few measures from the double bar line, and Bad moved his scroll in a sweeping motion, his fingers gliding up to rest on the final note. Zak’s hands moved apart, pressing b flats and e flats all the way down the piano, until ending on a low tremolo note.

That’s when what had just conspired registered in his mind.

Bad’s playing was like fire, Zak realized with a glint in his eyes. Passionate, and burning, and eager to spread. But it wasn’t a bad fire. It was like a summer bonfire, or a fireplace. It provided warmth and comfort, and never ceased to amaze you with its brilliant shining colors and flickering flames. It was unpredictable, and beautiful.

Bad’s music was beautiful.

Bad was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this one took me so long! It took forever to type because my tendonitis kept flaring up and I had to take breaks D:
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> I think I've decided to make this six chapters instead of five, so we are halfway done!! Hurray!!


	4. But How You Make It So Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is just sad, I'm sorry

**October 4, 2016 1:56 P.M.**

“Bad!” George was running down the hall after his friend, trying in vain to catch him before he got to the auditorium for concert band. “Bad wait!”

He was awkward when he ran, carrying his clarinet in both small hands, and leaning forward, thrusting his entire body into the motion. Moments ago, the boy had been roughly cleaning the spit out from inside his instrument in the large bathroom down the hall. It was nasty, but it had to be done.

On his way to class, he had passed the bulletin board in the main corridor- the announcement board, where all important events or lists were displayed- and had noticed a new, freshly printed list of names being posted by a staff member.

Most of the contents were changed every week- a reminder here, or a congratulations there. Though, there were a few permanent lists tacked into the cork. There was a list of rules for the building, number one being a strict warning against heelys in all capital letters. There was also a large, detailed drawing of a cellist, sent by a nearby visual arts university.

But what had caught George’s eye was the shadow of the man’s wrist, as he moved away from the board. A shadow that had drifted over the title “Finalized Talent Showcase List In Order.”

George stopped in his tracks. He let his eyes flicker back and forth before he stepped across the hallway and inspected the list. There were many names he didn’t recognize, but he was happy to see Clay’s name on there along with another he didn’t know. He was happy that Clay was getting an opportunity out of high school, and he hoped it bode well for his career. 

His eyes skipped down the list, and he came across a name that made his eyes go wide.

_Darryl Noveschosch._

That was-

That was Bad.

Well, it was good. Insanely good. But also Bad.

And he’d taken off down the hall.

Bad had been different lately, busier. His shoulders were hunched more and he had this wrinkle between his eyebrows that never seemed to disappear. At all times, George noticed, his left hand was palm up, with his fingers coming down in well practiced motions to tap on his own skin.

Bad finally turned around as George shouted like mad. Professors were staring, as were students, but George didn’t care. He was too ecstatic to care. 

“What’s up, Muffinhead?” Bad tilted his head as George slowed to a stop. He grabbed the boy’s lithe shoulders and smiled madly.

“Your name’s on the list, Bad,” George breathed. It had only been a short run through the hall, but when he spent ten hours a day sitting with an instrument between his legs, he didn’t think it was too weird to be out of breath.

Bad looked confused for a moment before he straightened up. He seemed shocked, in a state of disbelief. Like he couldn’t understand what he was hearing.

“The- the list,” He stuttered out, and his eyes met George’s, “The freaking list!”

He dropped his instrument into George’s arms- the French horn case was heavy and bulky, but he couldn’t bring himself to complain. Bad was happy. And he was happy. And he smiled a watery smile as his friend ran down the hall.

“Tell the instructor I was feeling sick!” And Bad disappeared around the corner.

Bad’s mind was reeling. He’d actually done it. He hadn’t messed it up. He was playing at the showcase. The showcase with talent agents and musicians and composers and everything he’d ever dreamed of. He hadn’t played out in a year and a half, but he’d done it anyway. He’d succeeded.

The hallways were clearing out- two in the afternoon wasn’t a time you’d usually see people galavanting across the building. Bad was alone. He was alone and running and smiling and giggling like nobody was watching, because nobody was. This was the best he’d felt in ages.

He almost laughed at his behavior, running clear to the otherside of the school, swinging on the banister at the stairs, and hopping up the steps to the second floor. He was acting like a child, but he could care less. He was _happy_.

Zak was standing at the end of the hall at the top of the stairs, gazing out over the courtyard. His back was tense and he was leaning forward into the window. The door to their practice room was ajar.

Bad sped up, and Zak turned around, hearing the sound of his shoes smack against the tile floor.

Neither of them knew what happened, but one moment, Bad had been running at him, arms outstretched, reaching towards his friend, as Zak let his lips curl into a smile. The next, Zak was all but supporting the boy who had jumped into his arms. Bad was curled into his friend, his face buried into Zak’s neck. The other boy had arms full of Bad, and his hands were fisted into the edge of his shirt.

“What’s this?” Zak snickered into Bad’s ear. He was elated that Bad was in such a good mood, but couldn’t for the life of him understand the reason. The past two days had been mundane. What, with the lack of anything to practice for, he had temporarily lacked purpose.

“We made it, Skeppy,” he thought Bad was going to cry for a moment, but the boy held strong. “We’re playing at the showcase in a week.”

____________________________________________________________________________

**October 5, 2016 11:34 P.M.**

They were back to practicing at all hours of the day. Well, actually, Zak was pretty sure Bad had never stopped. He was determined, and never let anything get in his way. He was so fierce when he was practicing, so confident when he knew what he was doing.

He was just so indescribably _good_ at his instrument.

Zak loved all the little quirks that Bad had when he played. When he hit a note that he didn’t think sounded good (But of course, it sounded fine), his face scrunched up and he shifted his hand to right the note. On the rare occasion that a note ran too long and he ran out of room on his bow, he’d huff out a sound of annoyance, and stop the note to move his bow over. 

Sometimes, his hair would fall down into his face, and he’d tie it back into a little, bursting ponytail on the top of his head. Other times, he’d let it stay in his face when he was too concentrated to do anything about it.

When he was casually playing, he’d let his body sway to the rhythm, rocking back and forth on his feet. He was at ease with his instrument, entirely comfortable with every little aspect of it.

“I’m worried we’re going to overpractice these if we continue any longer,” Zak joked, as he gathered his things. It was a half truth, though. Sometimes, you’d play a piece so much, you’d get too comfortable with it and begin to make rudimentary mistakes.

“Oh,” Bad brought his instrument down from his playing position, “Are you leaving?”

Zak shrugged and pulled up his bag. It was falling apart, and the straps no longer stayed tightened. “I mean it’s getting pretty late. You want a ride home?”

Bad looked down at his instrument and then, after a moment, back up at his friend. “I think I’m going to stay and practice my intonation. Just an hour or so of scales.”

Zak almost felt bad leaving when he was still wanting to practice. That hadn’t happened very often lately, and while he understood that his friend needed his space, he didn’t want him walking home in the dark by himself. It was too sketchy. Too dangerous.

“Bad, why don’t you practice at home?” Zak offered a solution with a smile.

Bad thought about the suggestion. While his neighbors despised when he played at home, he did have a back deck. Maybe he could serenade the squirrels with endless amounts of two octave scales and arpeggios. 

It wouldn’t be as lonely, he supposed. The empty auditorium seemed so much bigger when Zak was gone. It was a vast unknown that he could not explore. Something he couldn’t bring himself to think about alone. And the dark school was somewhat of a terror. Shadows peaked out from every wall, and steps echoed in just the right ways to create an illusion that something was there, watching, waiting.

The thought made Bad shudder. Besides, it was cold out.

He lowered his instrument slowly, and slipped off the shoulder rest. “Yeah, that’s alright.”

Following the familiar motions, he tucked his instrument back into the safety of its case. It was a dark velvet, simple but elegant. At all times, there was a spare bow sat inside of it, waiting in case something were to happen to the other. There was a silk cloth that he laid on top of his instrument, almost like he was tucking in a child. It wouldn’t be too far off, musicians tended to treat their instruments like their children.

He zipped up the case and slid it onto his back- he hadn’t brought his backpack today and didn’t feel like carrying the instrument.

It was something Bad hadn’t noticed at first, this habit that had recently made a reappearance. Though, he supposed it was nice taking his instrument home. It felt less empty. Rat still barked when he played, but afterwards he always made sure to give her extra pets.The case no longer stared at him, accusing, and he no longer denied its presence, denied his talent. It seemed like things were finally getting back to some kind of normal.

He knew that his high school days were long gone. He was no longer learning the violin. He was no longer waiting impatiently to be able to play the next step up of a song. He was no longer taking the solos in the orchestra and hoping to someday become a concertmaster. He wasn’t even part of an orchestra anymore, would he ever play in one again?

He supposed if the showcase went well he had some hope at a future. Maybe he’d be some sort of virtuoso someday, a travelling soloist, somebody everyone wanted to hear. It wasn’t about the publicity, though. He just wanted to be able to have people understand the same emotions he felt while playing. That everything had let up to that point in time, and it was meant for him, for the audience, for everyone there.

Yeah, it was a selfish thought, that destiny had weaved this picture back when Vivaldi was still composing, but it was legitimate, and it went for everybody.

Maybe that was the reason he had played so badly a year and a half ago. Maybe he needed to conquer his fear of failure. He needed to learn to cope when his music didn’t sound good or when he wasn’t playing under the best circumstances. Besides, he would have never met Zak had he not been sneaking around that practice room to play his violin.

Zak, he decided, was worth it. He was worth every ounce of failure Bad had to endure. He would do a million horrible performances just to see Zak smile, even if it meant never picking up his violin again. Because Zak was his music.

They turned out the lights to the practice room, and the entire school was dark. Sometimes there would be a hallway light on, or a professor staying in their classroom, but tonight there was nothing except for two exhausted boys.

Their eyes had yet to adjust, but Zak was already making his way out of the room. It was a bad excuse, and he knew it, but he didn’t want to lose sight of the boy, so he let his hand drift over to grab Zak’s wrist.

He stopped, and presumably looked in Bad’s direction. “What are you doing?”

He let his hand slide down to tangle their fingers together and squeezed lightly. “I don’t want to get lost.”

Zak let out a laugh and dragged the violinist out of the room. “Nice excuse, bro, I know you’re in love with me.” And he laughed again, a joke. It was a joke.

But Bad’s eyes were wide, and he was glad it was dark. Zak couldn’t see his blush, spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He couldn’t see his hand shake. He couldn’t see the shock he held as he wrenched his hand away from Zak’s.

“Well now I’m not going to hold your hand,” He said petulantly, turning his head to the side. 

Zak lagged again at his friend's antics and continued down the hall. “Come on, I want to get home before the sun rises if that’s alright with you.”

____________________________________________________________________________

**October 8, 2016 3:45 P.M.**

Clay was sandwiched between the two noisiest people in the world. George was arguing over him at Nick, who wasn’t having any of it. They were waiting in the comfortable seats of the auditorium for Bad to come practice with his pianist. He knew that usually Bad would practice in an actual designated practice room, but with the showcase happening in less than a week, he knew Bad would want to get a little more used to the stage.

The auditorium had been empty for three days, Saturday, Sunday, and now that Monday- Columbus Day. Clay preferred Indiginous People’s Day, but that’s what the old fashioned collegeboard had insisted on calling it.

“I’m just saying, they are in love,” Nick was talking about the mysterious pianist, whom Clay had so far been the only one to meet. “They spend every day together, but I’ve never even seen the guy! That _screams_ ‘secret lovers’ to me.”

“They aren’t in love, Bad’s only getting back into playing his instrument, that's why he’s so happy.” George was defensive over his friend. He knew what it felt like when people wanted you to date your best friend, and it wasn’t exactly comfortable. “Don’t make it weird, dude.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “I’m not making it weird, I’m just being honest.”

George turned and put his chin on Clay’s shoulder. “You’ve seen the mystery man, share with us your wisdom. What is he like?”

Clay thought for a moment, what was Zak like? He had darker skin, and wild, untamed hair that somehow defied all laws of physics. He had good eyebrows (Like really good eyebrows, how did he manage to obtain those? Did he make a sacrifice to the eyebrow god?), and was honestly just conventionally handsome all around. Clay knew this wasn’t what they wanted to know, though. They wanted to know about his personality. Was he nice? How did he treat Bad? _What was he like?_

“He makes Bad smile.” That was all he said. When he’d met the guy, they’d been backstage, ready to audition at any moment. It was nerve wracking, Bad would usually be freaking out then. But with Zak, he’d been calm. He’d been smiling and laughing, and Clay had been so happy for him.

He’d been surprised, too. He never thought he’d see the boy play the instrument agan, much less enjoy it, yet he was back to his old self. He was so proud of his friend. So proud of how he’d grown.

The three boys went quiet and whipped their heads around. Two people were walking into the auditorium, laughing and sipping on coffee. It was October, aesthetic fall, and Bad matched it perfectly, wearing a yellow sweater over a white collared shirt. He was always relatively well dressed, it was just another one of Bad’s little traits that made him, well, Bad. 

Nick and George immediately shot from their seats and waved. They had been waiting so long to meet Zak, it was surprising that they didn’t immediately run to meet him. 

“Hey, Bad! We came to watch you practice!” George shouted across the auditorium. Bad looked up and smiled, and Zak turned his head to look at him.

They walked up to the front of the room, stopping where Bad’s friend’s stood, practically shaking with excitement. Zak was different than they’d imagined, less serious, more casual. His posture wasn’t the best, and he stood with his feet out.

“Guys this is Zak, my accompanist. He is very talented.” Bad made a sweeping gesture towards his friend, almost spilling his drink in the process. Bad wasn’t normally one to drink coffee, opting instead to get his energy from actual energy drinks, so it was weird to see him drinking it like his life depended on it.

Clay knew what was to come with this showcase. What was probably already happening. Bad always worked himself so hard when it came to a performance. He’d drown himself in caffeine until he physically couldn’t go on anymore, and practice so much he’d make himself sick. It was a vicious cycle, the more he practiced, the better he got. The better he got, the more competitions he’d enter. The more performances he had, the more he’d practice.

That was the one good thing about when he’d quit playing. 

But with Zak, he looked better, healthier. Maybe these were old habits he’d left behind. Maybe he was better at taking care of himself now, and understood what a sleep schedule was.

But maybe, Clay thought as he watched the tremor in Bad’s hands, maybe that was just wishful thinking.

____________________________________________________________________________

**October 10, 2016 11:58 P.M.**

It was a chilly night. Fog was drifting through the air, only lit up by the stars above it and the moon teetering in the sky. It was refreshing, relaxing, and if one listened very closely, they could hear the sounds of music, high above the clouds, piercing through the calm atmosphere, and drifting through the sky. They could hear the sounds of a certain Darryl Noveschosch as he serenaded the empty night.

His hands were trembling and, despite the cold, he was sweating. He’d been outside playing for two hours now, having had Zak force him out of the auditorium when he began to get tired. Upon arriving back at his apartment, he hadn’t said bye to his friend, merely strode through the door with his case in his hands and shadows under his eyes. 

He was playing from his head, stringing notes together that sounded good in order to practice his vibrato. He’d begun slowly, but was now up to a quicker tempo as he allowed his wrist to move back and forth in well practiced motions.

Earlier that day, he’d noticed his scroll shaking with the motions of his hand, something that was not acceptable when he played. Vibrato was a technique to mimic the human voice, bringing the fingers slightly back and forth, but when it shook the instrument instead of just the note, it hindered the playing, and made for a bad sound.

Bad stopped for a moment and let his eyes closed. Was this serenity? Worrying over a competition in two days while it felt like his world fell apart around him? He’d always gotten stressed over the little things, but this wasn’t little. This was huge.

They’d gotten emails the other day listing out notable people who would be in attendance at the showcase. Afterall, they were some of the best musicians in the state, possibly in the country. The list was pages long, famous conductors, composers, producers, anyone with an interest in classical and contemporary (mostly classical) music who happened to have money.

There was so much riding on this. It _had_ to go well. Bad didn’t know what to do with himself if it didn’t.

He knew he was obsessing, but when your life is literally music, how can you not?

He began to let his fingers slide across the strings on some notes, making a more contemporary sound, as he worked glissandos into his music. This was Bad at his finest, standing, uninterrupted, playing whatever came into his head.

He wondered what it would feel like to be a composer, to hear his own music come from someone else’s hands, someone else’s mind. It wouldn’t sound the same as envisioned, he figured. Is that what the old composers thought when they heard their compositions come to life? Were they happy to hear them, or were they disappointed when they weren’t played with the same passion they’d imagined them to house?

It was a guessing game, really.

He wondered what Zak would compose if he were given the chance. Something heartbreaking? Something sickly sweet? A cloying tune that one would never get out of their head? Bad thought he would make something worth remembering, a glockenspiel over keyboard and flutes. That would be the happy part. Maybe it would be a symphony about his life, something autobiographical.

What instrument would portray Bad? An ambient violin? A piercing cello? Maybe a piano.

Zak wasn’t a composer, but he was a brilliant musician. Bad knew Zak only wanted to teach music someday, but he had so much talent and expertise, it was hard to see him not pursuing actually playing. Even if it wasn’t at Bad’s side, as long as he just played.

Bad stopped again, and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, he’d admit it, but his playing has gotten more and more sloppy as the night went on. While it was most definitely an effect of exhaustion, Bad just couldn’t comprehend that right now. 

He grabbed his drink from the patio table, a can of some cheap, off-brand energy drink he’d picked up from the store. In the past week, he’d been through so many of them, he’d lost count. It wasn’t necessarily healthy, but caffeine couldn’t kill him. Probably?

He knew he should go inside and warm up. He needed to eat, when was the last time he’d had an actual meal, anyway? He wanted to go to sleep, and only wake up for the competition in two days, but he was just too busy.

So, instead, he took another sip of his drink, delicately set it down with two fingers, and returned to gliding his bow across the strings of his violin.

The best thing about playing for himself was that there was no end. He didn’t have to finish this symphony.

____________________________________________________________________________

**October 11, 2016 9:37 P.M.**

“Bad, you have to go home!” Zak was yelling. He knew it was rude, uncouth. He shouldn’t be yelling at his best friend the night before their concert, but he just couldn’t help it. “I’m not practicing here for another minute before tomorrow. We are going to wear ourselves out.”

They were in the dark auditorium, the only lights on were the stage lights, hot as could be, beating down upon them. They were both sweating. Zak had his shirt unbuttoned near the top, and Bad had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

“You can’t tell me what to do, Zak, I’m a grown man.” That was the first time he’d called him that in weeks, and Zak knew he’d screwed up, but _Darryl’s_ health was more important.

“I can when you’re endangering your own damn health!”

“Language.”

And then he was petulantly turning away, tucking his chin rest under his jaw, and bringing up his bow.

“Don’t you _dare_ play over me!” Zak shouted before Bad began to angrily play a series of notes.

Zak tried to move to face Bad, but the point kept turning his back to him, almost smacking him with the bow on multiple occasions. This was, by far, the most bizarre argument he’d ever had.

His fingers flew, and Zak tried to grab his shoulders. He tried to stop him from practicing for just one moment, because that was all Bad had been recently. Just some musical machine. The piece he was playing was fast and harsh. It sounded Russian, rough and gritty and fast.

“Stop playing Russian at me!” And yeah, it was a weird thing to say (And yeah, the author is cackling profusely while writing it), but he just wanted the boy to _listen_ even for just a moment. “I’m just going to yell until you stop!”

And Bad paused. He huffed and turned around. There were tears in his eyes and his hands were trembling. His voice cracked when he spoke. “You don’t understand. This has to be perfect.”

“Bad, you-”

“Zak, leave me be!” Bad was almost crying now, his hand gripped tight around the neck of his violin. He brandished his bow like a sword in his hand, held defensively out to his side.

Zak wondered how they looked from an outside perspective, fighting, quite literally, in a spot light on a stage. It was all quite dramatic, but he didn’t think Bad was in the best state of mind at the moment.

“You’re working yourself to death!” He glared and pointed an accusing finger. “We have spent so much time in this freaking room, practicing scales and songs and everything. If you aren’t _perfect_ by now, you never will be.”

It had been so mean coming out of his mouth. He’d meant it to be closer to the “Nobody is perfect” sentiment, but instead he’d just sounded like a jerk. A complete jerk.

They stood in a shocked silence for a moment. Bad had tears glistening in his ear, slowly gathering to run down his cheeks. The guy looked guilty, he didn’t even even look mad, which made Zak even angrier at him.

“Bad, look-”

“Get out.” Bad walked to his case and began to rub rosin on his bow. “I’ll walk home tonight, no need to worry.”

“Bad, I’m sorry.” He’d messed up, and he knew it. He tended to say things when he was worked up, but that was no excuse for his actions. He’d screwed up.

“Just,” Bad flicked the tip of his bow to point towards the door on the far side of the hall. He looked like a frightened animal, backing away into the safety of the corner where his case sat. “Please, leave.”

Of course the man still had manners when he was angry, and crying. Of course.

Because, at the end of the day, Bad was good. He was inherently good. Zak saw black and white, one side or the other. Bad was good, and right now? Right now Zak was pretty awful.

He could have salvaged the moment. He could have apologized. He could have gotten on his knees and begged for his friend to please forgive him, because he’d _messed up and he understood that_.

But instead, he let his eyes drift to the ground, and followed Bad’s bow to the end of the room. His friend wasn’t a loud cryer, but his heart still broke as the echoing sniffles followed him out of the room.

He didn’t want to anger the boy by trying to reason with him, but he shouldn’t have left him alone when he needed him. He shouldn’t just leave.

His coat was still in the auditorium, as was his bag and jacket, but he had his keys in his hand, and his old car in the parking lot. That was all he needed to run away from his problems and his sobbing friend.

Bad was perfect in his eyes, but he never faced up to his own scrutiny. He wished he could just see himself the way Zak did.

He always wanted to improve, and he always did, even when Zak thought he couldn’t anymore. His playing had gotten better tenfold since last month, even when Zak couldn’t notice the difference immediately- he didn’t have a violinist’s ear, after all. The piano didn’t require a near perfect ear like the violin did. There were no out of tune notes on the piano. You hit the right key, and it played the correct note. If you hit the wrong key, it was jazz. It was a simple science. But the violin didn’t have markers. It didn’t have frets. You just had your ear and your muscle memory.

And it was true, Bad was still improving, but the concert was the next day, and they had done all they could. It didn’t make sense to continue into the night. It was over. All that was left was tomorrow.

Zak had the utmost faith in their performance, they were a brilliant duo. He knew the audience would love them and their dynamic. He was pretty sure Bad was the only violinist who made it, after all. But Bad insisted his career depended on this. Which, he guessed, was true. The next time there would be a showcase like this would be at least a few years into the future, after they would both be out of the school. 

The music business was tricky, orchestras and composers and even some producers tended to find a musician they liked, and stick with them until they couldn’t anymore. That’s what made it so tricky, it was a once in a generation job that had a limited capacity.

But Bad was one in a million. No, he was one in fourteen million. He was one in a billion. He was so special, so perfect, it made Zak’s heart ache.

Because he had just left his one in a billion boy sobbing into his violin on a stage. He had just left in the middle of what some would consider a fight, a crisis.

He knew, though, he would only aggravate the situation further if he went back.

So, Zak drove away.

And Bad was left sobbing, a lone violin singing in the concert hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I'm sorry, this one is kinda sad. I kind of vented in this one because I broke one of my tuning pegs for my own instrument and couldn't fix it myself, so now I actually have to pay to take it in which is super frustrating. :/
> 
> Thank you for all the nice comments, by the way! 
> 
> Also, when I tell you I was legitimately laughing while imagining Bad angrily playing Shostakovich's 8th string quartet while Skeppy tries to reason with him, I do not lie.
> 
> Also also, here's some song links for everything that was played so far, and will be played in the performance:
> 
> Bad's angry song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PjvTTfbpWjY
> 
> Bad's sad song that he was playing while crying at the very end (I didn't describe it but I imagined it): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1zgK4FpAJSA
> 
> Chopin's Mazurka in A Minor: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gmsC79W2JHQ
> 
> Paganini 19 (I couldn't find the accompaniment, but I know it exists because I found the link to buy the sheet music?): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W38iPqxP3yI
> 
> Vivaldi's Concerto in A Minor, First Movement: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7yjiC6v5wc
> 
> I think that's all the songs? I know I had Bad improvise a lot when practicing, so let me know if you'd like to hear what I imagined that to sound like!


	5. And I know I've Fallen. I know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about this

**October 12, 2016 8:02 A.M.**

“Zak!” Nick was walking down the hallway. He was supposed to be on his way to class, but had found himself curious as to the whereabouts of Bad. Usually, his friend was the kind of person to send good morning texts, even when he woke up at one in the afternoon on some days off. He had assumed Bad had slept in, or was practicing with Zak (Today was the showcase, afterall), but after seeing the pianist trudging through the hallways, Nick realized he had no idea where the boy actually was. 

Zak continued walking, his head looking towards the ground, and one earbud lodged precariously in his right ear. He looked tired, and had a frown on his face. Zak was Bad’s ride to school practically every day. Surely, Nick thought, he had to know where Bad was.

Part of Nick was jealous of this new kid. In less than two months, he’d attained a level of friendship that had taken him two _years_. Bad was trusting, but he didn’t get very personal with people until he knew them well. Zak knew his _address_ on their first day of friendship!

“Zak!” He waved his arms out in front of the boy and he startled back, unlatching his earbud from his ear, and almost dropping his bookbag, which he held tightly by the fabric strap. 

“What?” His voice was rough, like he hadn’t said a word all morning. Maybe Bad wasn’t feeling talkative? That would explain why they weren’t practicing together. 

“I’m worried because I haven’t seen Bad yet this morning, or even heard from him. This isn’t like him, he texts me like every morning, and I just want to make sure he’s okay, and I know that you drive him everyday, so I thought maybe you’d know where he was, but now you’re not with him, so I’m even more worried and just-” He knew what he had said was complete word vomit. He was frantically rambling, but today was an important day, and he wanted to make sure his friend was alright. “Have you seen Bad?”

Zak shrugged and bit his lip. “I-”

He looked defeatedly to the ground, and ran his free hand through his hair. “He’s mad at me. For good reason.”

Nick went silent and frowned. “Oh, what happened?”

“I said something I regret.” Nick would have glared, or told him off, but he already looked ashamed, and that was enough. “I haven’t seen him since we practiced in the concert hall last night.”

Nick nodded and gave Zak a powerful smack on his back. “Don’t worry, Bad doesn’t hold grudges. He’s probably practicing there now.”

He forced a grin and moved past Nick. Tell me if he’s alright, I need to get to class.”

He smiled and took off down the hall. He needed to be in class too, to be honest, but he didn’t really care. His professor never counted who was there unless it was a test day. His next class, however, was college Algebra. They had a test at least once a week.

The concert hall was on the other side of the main building. There were the main doors at the front entrance, that led to the student HQ and the main office, then a hallway with stairs the veered off towards the right, and the wooden wall that had kids surrounding it 24/7.

There were two floors worth of practice rooms, and ensemble rooms. Each of the practice rooms were small, made for no ore than four or five people. They were outfitted in sound proof boards, to absorb sound and help with acoustics, and some had pianos or keyboards in the corner. The ensemble rooms were similar, just much larger.

At the back of the building, there was the concert hall, complete with hundreds of seats, barely raked going up the room, and a brightly lit stage.

It was a performer’s paradise.

There were no walls in the immediate vicinity of the stage, so the sound had no where that it would be stopped. It would ring through the air, and float to each member of the audience, melding perfectly with whatever other harmonies were being played. It was, simply, delightful.

The hall, itself, had another set of doors that led to the outside. If one were to approach from there, they would most likely believe it to be the front entrance to the building- ornately decorated double doors that swung open to reveal a hall dressed in dark shades of red and brilliant gold. It was like something out of history.

As Nick walked into the concert hall, he noticed no lights were on. There were no windows in the room, so he could barely see a foot in front of his face. Bad obviously wasn’t in here- no one was.

He opened his phone, and swiped up to turn on his flashlight. It wouldn’t hurt to look around a bit while he was in here. Maybe he could go ahead and lay his jacket out to reserve his seat for tonight.

His blinding, white light shone across the room, and his eyes squinted from the sudden change. All he wanted to do was find the light switches. They were on the wall somewhere, right?

He grappled his hands along the wall next to the backstage door, and moved his light to allow him to see. There were six switches. He flicked three of them up and watched the room light up.

It wasn’t horribly bright, only half of the overhead lights were on, after all. It was just enough to allow Nick to see the whole room and the stage.

And his face twisted into a frown as the area around him was illuminated.

Bad was curled up in a seat in the front row. His back was against the right armrest, and his legs were thrown carelessly over the left. His violin was clutched tightly in his arms, like a child with a stuffed animal, and his bow was propped against the seat. His black cloth laid, abandoned, on the floor. There was a blue coat, pulled over his legs, and his eyes were closed.

He looked absolute horrible, and Nick almost didn’t want to wake him. This was probably the first time he’d slept well in days. Actually, this wasn’t sleeping _well_. This was passing out from exhaustion in the middle of the night.

He walked quietly over to the seat, his feet padding carefully across the carpeted floor. He wasn’t sure how to go about waking the boy when he seemed so… so breakable. So fragile. Like he would shatter if Nick even thought about touching him.

He contemplated calling Zak. Maybe he could help ease the situation? Bring Bad a warm drink, shuffle him into a car, and get him home in time to rest before the concert that night. But he didn’t have his number, even if it would be easier with a little help.

He rested a light hand on Bad’s shoulder and gently pulled his scrunched form away from itself. He slipped his hands under his violin, and grabbed it before it had a chance to fall out of Bad’s lap. He also made a move to grab Bad’s phone from where it laid on the arm rest next to his knees.

As Nick walked to put the violin back into its case (He knew how it had to be arranged after years of Bad being an overprotective musician whenever he played for anyone), he pressed the power button on the side of Bad’s phone and watched the screen illuminate, missed messages from hours beforehand popping up.

_Skeppy :D_

_Bad did you get home alright? 11:49 P.M._

_Look, I know you’re mad but please just answer 12:01 A.M._

_Missed Call 12:04 A.M._

_Missed Call 12:05 A.M._

_Please pick up Im actually worried now this isn’t funny 12:07 A.M._

_Fine I’ll see you tomorrow I guess. Don’t stay up too late, drink a good amount of water, PLEASE EAT SOME FRUIT!! Sleep in tomorrow, you deserve it <3 12:11 A.M._

Nick smiled at the care shown in the last message. He wondered what Zak- or who he presumed was Zak- had said to make Bad so upset. Granted, he wasn’t in the best state in any capacity, but it still must have been something incredibly hurtful.

He tapped on the missed call and let the phone use his fingerprint before transferring him to the call screen.

He hoped Zak would answer. He was probably in class right now, but surely a call from the guy who’d been MIA all night would be more important than music theory he already knew.

The phone rang once. The sound echoed in Nick’s head and he sighed into the receiver. The seconds it took to ring someone up were so odd. You’d prepare yourself to speak, but wouldn’t be sure if you’d actually have to until a voice sang through the speaker. He’d had that feeling countless times with Clay and George- they called almost every night to just hang around and goof off. But what happened when someone didn’t respond, and you were all ready to talk? When you were simply left hanging? Sometimes it was a relief, was it not? But other times, when you needed to hear the other person, when you needed their _help_ -

“Bad?” The voice was panicked and out of breath. “Bad, I’m so sorry, I-”

Nick decided to cut him off before he said something private. Something that Nick probably didn’t need to hear. “It’s not Bad.”

He kept his voice to a whisper, trying not to wake the boy up, as he wiped down a violin that wasn’t his.

“Why are you on his phone? Did something happen?” He sounded less frantic, more in control at the though that Bad could need his help/

“Things are fine… Sort of. I have an Algebra exam in half in hour I can’t miss, can you come down to the concert hall?” Nick thought for a moment before adding, “And bring something to drink if you can.”

Zak was silent for a second, and Nick imagined him nodding, even though he couldn’t actually see him. “I’ll- I’ll be right there.”

He put down Bad’s phone, and started to loosen his bow. Bad had Zak wrapped around his finger so tightly, Zak couldn’t even resist helping him when he hadn’t said a word. He was lucky Bad was so kind hearted, otherwise the amount of dedication he showed could have been an issue.

He heard the doors to the hall swing forcefully open, and Zak rocketed into the hall. He had a water bottle in his hand, and a worried expression on his face. He looked like a mess, but his composure was calm and steady, and he bounded over to where Nick stood, facing Bad.

His face fell as he took in the boy’s hunched figure, and clammy skin. The dark areas under his eyes and he moved to get a better look. The way his hair was swept aside and tangled from a night of pulling at it and running his hands through it.

“When did he get here?” Zak’s mind was filled with the image of Bad walking here in this state, only to collapse into his seat when he’d just begun to practice. The guilt he felt was unimaginable.

“I think he’s been here all night, to be honest,” Nick finished his ministrations and zipped up the case. “Can you get him home?”

Zak’s lip quivered and he sniffed. “Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

He knelt in front of the seat, and gently smoothed Bad’s hair away from his face. Nick stood behind him, gathering Bad’s things from the floor.

“Hey, buddy,” His voice was low. He didn’t want to jar the other boy awake, and he didn’t want to upset him either.

Bad’s scrunched up his face as Zak threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of Bad’s neck, supporting his head as he tried to flop it to the side. A part of him wished he was free to do this all the time. Every morning. Run his fingers through his hair, and whisper sweet nothings into his ear as he coaxed him into wakefulness. He just wanted-

No. This wasn’t about what he wanted. He couldn’t let feelings that he didn’t know how to interpret get in the way of a good friendship. He just refused to let it happen.

“Did I fall asleep?” His voice was deeper when he woke up. Not necessarily as deep as the average male, it still clung to it’s unwavering higher pitch, but just enough for Zak to notice. 

“M’sorry,” he muttered, as he reached out his limbs to stretch. That couldn’t have been comfortable. Part of Zak hoped that he had only slept for an hour or so, that way he wasn’t too sore.

“Hey, no need to apologize,” He let a smile grace his face as he stood up and held out his hand. “Let’s just get you home. How’s that?”

Bad yawned and used the outstretched arm to pull himself to his feet, swaying only slightly. He looked so tiny, wrapped up in his sweater, clutching a blue coat to his chest. “Sounds like a plan.”

Zak’s eyes narrowed as he wrapped a familiar arm around his friend. “Did you steal my coat?”

Bad smiled sheepishly and a blush spread across his cheeks. “I got cold.”

He let out a laugh and shook his head. “Of course, you’re so cute.”

He laughed it off as a joke, and Bad’s face got even more red. He sobered up the minute it happened, however, and stopped in his tracks. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“You said something very rude.”

“I-I know.”

Bad looked to the side for a moment, like he was mulling something over in that big brain of his. His eyes glittered in the light, and he turned to face Zak. Chest to chest, barely an inch between them. It was intimidating.

“I’m willing to propose a temporary hiatus from being angry while you drive me home, but after that, it’s free real estate.”

Zak looked shamefully down, and nodded his head. “I’m willing to accept.”

Bad forced a smile, and walked towards the doors. Zak contemplated placing his arm once more on the boy’s shoulder, but decided against it as he watched him stumble to the exit. That wasn’t what he needed.

So he followed his friend out of the hall in a silence that had, for a moment, been forgotten.

Nick turned around to follow his boys, and was met with an empty hall.

“Guys?” He yelled, watching the double doors swing a little. “Please wait for me.”

____________________________________________________________________________

**October 12, 2016 2:00 P.M.**

Zak stared into his own eyes as he wrapped his tie around his neck. He looked alright, sporting a white collared shirt, and his untied bow tie. His vest laid on his vanity, and his sleeves were unbuttoned. He had already styled his dark hair, choosing to let it sway over to the left a little, instead of stick up in every direction.

He knew it was childish, but he usually went without the jacket to his suit. It allowed his arms to move more, and not be interrupted by the pull of the fabric across his back. Overall, it was just easier to be scowled at than to bother with the extra piece of clothing.

He glanced at his wikihow article, and tried to follow the steps to tie his bow tie. He usually cheated, and used the adjustable, pre-tied ones, but he thought he’d give this type a shot for luck. He wasn’t in high school anymore. He wasn’t playing just to play. This was real. And so was his bow tie.

He sighed, leaning forward to let his arms hold up his weight on the counter. He’d messed a lot up in the last twenty-four hours, and wasn’t keen on doing anything less than perfect tonight.

He’d get through this performance no matter what happened.

Bad hadn’t said a word on the way back to his place, and had only muttered a small “Thank you” when he exited Zak’s beat up car. It was obvious he was both exhausted and angry, and Zak didn’t blame him. He felt awful.

Bad had told him to pick him up before three. The concert began at six, and they were required to be there beforehand to run through the order of performances and get their instruments tuned and put together. A lot of people also practiced a few measures before going on stage, but Zak didn’t know if he wanted Bad to overwork himself even more.

He sincerely hoped the boy had managed to get more sleep. He had wanted to escort him into his apartment, and make sure he was safely tucked into his bed before leaving, but Bad was still angry, and Zak respected that. Instead, he just shot him a text later that day and told him to hydrate and eat something. He just needed to have faith that Bad would listen.

He smirked as he modelled his bow tie for the mirror. It wasn’t the straightest, but it would do. He buttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, and pulled his vest up to his shoulders, adjusting his collar as he went along. He debated leaving his vest unbuttoned for now, but he wanted to be dressed to the nines when he picked up Bad. He wanted to prove himself.

Out of the names he had seen listed, he had recognized both Techno and Bad’s friend, Clay. So, they wouldn’t be alone while waiting. He was happy that Techno and his friend (Enemy?) had made it into the concert, but he also wasn’t surprised. Clay was a brilliant musician, and Techno was so precise in his playing, that he’d earned his nickname after receiving an unfathomably high technical score in a middle school competition.

Zak had heard him go by many names, but “Techno” was, by far, his favorite. It was just _cool_.

He ran a comb through his hair once more, and stepped out of the bathroom, fiddling with the buttons on his vest. By the time he would be back here tonight, he would either have a career in music, or be left in the dust, deprived of anything of the sort.

He would know if he had failed Bad.

The drive to his house was a serene break from thinking. He had his radio blaring, and bobbed his head up and down to some of his downloaded songs. Ride With U came on twice, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to skip it.

By the time he pulled up to Bad’s door, it was two forty-five, and his head was cleared.

Honestly, he didn’t know what he expected to emerge from the door when he shot a quick “Here” text to his friend. A haggard man with bags under his eyes running with little to no sleep? A ball of nerves with shaking hands, grasping at the straps of his case? The nervous boy who he’d met all that time ago in the practice room down the hall?

Nobody whom he had expected came out that door.

What came instead, was the boy who played. The boy who exhumed such confidence, when he walked into a room, he didn’t have to play for people to understand his level of skill. This wasn’t the boy who stayed up stressing about practice, this was the boy who routinely mastered his practice. 

His glasses were off his face, and his hair was combed down and to the side. A bow tie much like his own wrapped comfortably around his neck. Though, it was admittedly less lopsided. He had the chain of what looked to be a pocket watch hanging from his suite, and the tail of his coat brushed behind him as he walked over to the car door. His hand comfortably held his case at his side.

He was beautiful.

No, not just beautiful. He was at ease. In his element. Alluring. Charming.

He looked like a Disney prince. Like an old fashioned aristocrat. Like someone you’d see in the history books, who you knew was well off because they had a long name. He was impressive, intimidating. Yet so utterly _Bad_.

It was incredible.

Bad placed his instrument into the backseat, and buckled it in. It was one of those things that Bad had done every time he’d taken his violin anywhere, and Zak hadn’t questioned it. He walked around, and Zak leaned over to open the door from the inside as he did so. He was a gentleman, after all.

“Thanks for picking me up,” Bad pulled down the mirror on his visor once he sat down, and fooled with his hair a bit. “I promise I’ll have a car by the end of the year.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Zak smiled and shifted the car into drive. He would happily be Bad’s chauffeur until the day he died, he actually enjoyed having an excuse to see the boy consistently. “Before we get there, I want to apologize.”

Bad tilted his head up, and gazed at Zak with a piercing stare. This was serious, they both knew it. He couldn’t screw this up too.

“What I said was awful,” He tightened his grip on the wheel as he drove. He wanted to make eye contact, and glanced over whenever he could while still trying to be a relatively safe driver. “I was just worried for you, and I let it get in the way of my rational thinking. This by no means is an excuse, but I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I was worried and tired and being dumb. Most of the time, I can’t see you as anything less than perfect.”

Bad nodded at this, and he felt his hand drift up to graze against his shoulder before resting comfortably on it.

“When I see you play, I can’t take my eyes off of you. The way you stand, and how you perform, and the way you are just so used to it all. Its humbling and beautiful. Even now, I can’t believe you’d choose me as your accompanist when you’re leagues ahead of me. I just don’t want to see you hurt yourself. I care about you, and your wellbeing, more than you’ll ever know. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you got hurt. But, no matter how worried I get, I promise, I won’t say anything similar to that in the future.”

The violinist grinned and dropped his hand, instead bringing it to rest in his own lap. “You know, that sounded more like a love confession than an apology. But either way, I accept it.”

They both laughed, and Zak wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. They were just friends. Only friends. Right? This wasn’t a romance story. This was... Well he didn’t know how to define it.

They had been at such a weird place in thor relationship and he didn’t know what a normal person would call it. They hugged regularly and always said they loved each other on call or when saying goodbye, but they were just more sensitive, right?

Whatever, this whole situation could wait until they were under less pressure.

“Thanks, Bad,” Zak smiled. “By the way, did you get a good amount of rest before I came and got you?”

Bad looked away, almost like he didn’t hear him. He looked out the window at the passing cars and trees, blurring with the motion from the car. “... yeah.”

Well, that was a lie if he’d ever heard one.

____________________________________________________________________________

**October 12, 2016 5:48 P.M.**

Clay’s leg bounced erratically up and down. He and his rival were going to be the first to perform. He had been told to call him “Techno” because apparently just using random pronouns was getting “Unbearably annoying.”

Their first piece was something German, Fantasia No. 2 by Telemann. It was regal and they knew it would sound good with the natural reverb the hall presented. He was playing second part in that, which he wasn’t thrilled by, but he’d pick up the slack in other pieces.

The next was a Bach piece that he couldn’t quite remember the name of, but he’d never forget the melody. He had cascading rhythms that stayed mostly above the staff, which he knew would impress anyone within earshot. He was confident in it, and didn’t believe he would mess up, but you never knew.

The last one was simpler- Handel’s first movement to water music. It allowed a brilliant display of intonation and accuracy, as well as peaked interest for the performances to come.

He was so confident in their routine, it hurt. He almost felt nervous.

No, he was entirely, completely nervous.

The room hd been loud moments before, filled with the ambient noises of a dozen and a half students tuning and practicing their instruments one final time before taking to the stage. Then, they had allowed the audience to start filling in the seats, and all had quieted.

There were now only the murmurs of assorted musicians. They were all kids Clay had seen walking about the campus, and he almost felt like an outsider, since he recognized no other Freshmen amongst them. The only people he actually knew were sitting off in the corner of the room.

Bad was leaned up against Zak, eyes closed and a hand gripping the neck of his violin. His fingers moved in phantom motions in the air.

They were the last performance of the night, and Clay couldn’t imagine the stress they were under. They were the finale. The end. Plus, they had to wait almost two hours between tuning and actually playing.

The duo trumpets, on the other hand, were first. They went on in _five minutes_.

Clay shuddered at the thought.

“Techno?” He muttered, shifting the trumpet he held in his lap. “Are you nervous?”

The boy looked up at him, not smiling. Not showing a hint of emotion. “I don’t get nervous, nerd.”

Clay snorted and leaned forward. “Whatever, that’s complete B.S.”

Techno nodded his head from side to side. “More or less, yes.”

It had been a surprise when the big, mean boy had turned out to have a sense of humor and actually make a good partner, but Clay didn’t complained. Heck, a little part of him had even entertained the idea of pursuing a friendship with the guy.

Clay could hear the MC welcoming everyone to the showcase, and his hands felt clammy. “Master of Ceremonies” what an oddly formal name for someone who was essentially an announcer.

He heard their cue word- their names, and the pieces they were playing- and the boys stood in unison. 

“Good luck!” He heard a harsh whisper from the back corner and saw Zak and Bad smiling at them, their thumbs up. He smiled back.

“Let’s make this a killer intro,” Techno muttered to him as they were blinded by the stage lights.

“Is that a challenge?”

The auditorium was filled in a way Clay had never seen, all black suits and elegant dresses. Silhouettes of brilliantly styled hair and a number of people he couldn’t even begin to make out with the light glaring in his eyes.

Techno bobbed the bell of his trumpet up and down for four beats until he began to play.

Clay never remembered exactly what a performance felt like, and he never registered his fingers pushing down the valves. He only knew muscle memory, and what he heard.

And what he heard in the span of those three pieces was absolutely breathtaking.

He never realized what happened when two equally skilled trumpeters played together. All his life he’d excelled, he’d been the best, he’d never played with someone who he felt was his equal. But this was a new feeling, as their melodies and harmonies tangled together in the air, this was bliss.

He would have a long note, while Techno did a riff in the octave above, and then he’d join in. It was like a dance, where Techno was constantly one step ahead.

Then came the second piece, where it was more of a braid of melody and countermelody. This sort of offset piece that allowed them both to shine, and for Clay to soar above everything he’d thought possible. He felt light when he played it, but not airy. Like he could fly.

He could do this forever, simply relish in the pieces they were playing, and the audience reaction.

There was applause between pieces, but it wasn’t loud. Loud applause was taboo and boisterous in the classical world. He could have sworn, however, that he could hear one person clapping above the rest. He knew it was George.

He could practically feel his eyes on him the entire time. He knew he sounded insane, but he felt like he was playing for him. This freedom, these notes. These were for George.

George who couldn’t find anyone to play with, yet still came to support his friends. George who he always annoyed, but knew that he would always be best friends with. He was playing to George.

The final song came along, and the two boys played loudly, a beckoning for the rest of the showcase. As he played a few longer notes, he said a prayer in his head that the rest of the night would go well. He couldn’t watch Bad fall apart again. He didn’t even know how they’d picked up the pieces the last time it had happened.

They played the final notes, and bowed their heads slightly at the applause before walking backstage. As soon as they were out of the spotlight and into the back room again, Clay clapped his partner hard on the shoulder and beamed.

“We are actually the best.”

Techno rolled his eyes and walked towards the doors to the instrument lockers.

Clay bounded over to Zak and Bad, who were grinning profusely at him. Bad stood up from his seat, and shoved his violin into Zak’s hands as he lept at Clay, and captured him in a tight hug.

“You did absolutely amazing, muffinhead!” Bad spoke into his neck as he maneuvered his trumpet away from his friend. He contemplated dropping it into Zak’s arms as well, but decided against it. “I’m so proud of you that was the best I’ve ever heard you play!”

Clay chuckled and detached himself from his friend. “Thanks Bad. George saved me a seat in the audience so I can watch you two perform, but I’d like to see as much of the showcase as possible, so I’m going to head out of here for a bit.”

Bad nodded and bit his lip. “Thanks, man. I’ll keep that in mind while I’m playing.”

Bad didn’t look entirely as healthy as he should, he was pale, and his hands were veiny and cold. He’d put just a little too much weight into their hug, like standing up that quickly had weakened him. He hoped he could at least make it through the showcase. 

“I’ll be cheering you on!” He pulled him into one last embrace, a whispered into his ear as he drew him in. “And please drink some water or something, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

Bad nodded, watching his friend scurry away to put away his trumpet and run around the building to go sit with George. 

“Do you want this back?” Zak said through a smile as he offered back his violin and bow. 

Bad giggled and grabbed them loosely, moving to sit down at the long bench once more. Zak sat next to him, lodged between Bad and the wall.

“We’ve got an hour and forty-five minutes left to stress,” Bad scowled, “This is fantastic.”

Zak wrapped an arm around Bad’s shoulders, pulling him in slightly. “Nah we’ve got an hour of good music, happy applause, and each other.”

And if that didn’t make Bad blush. He had made a joke earlier about a love confession, and had watched Zak’s face go red the second he’d said it. Was this just another joke? Or were they just friends who platonically flirted now? Was that even a thing?

He didn’t know. All he knew was that he enjoyed being in his friend’s arms, especially when they brought such comfort from his nerves.

He hadn’t slept well in ages, and had accidentally slept for a few hours in this very hall the night before. He had a bruise on his back from where he’d been leaned up against the arm of his chair, and a stiff neck. When he’d gotten home that day, he’d taken some time to just sit. He pet his dog, and stared at his violin, wishing to practice, but also knowing how much he’d disappoint everyone if he worked himself even more.

He hadn’t slept, he hadn’t eaten, he’d just waited and gotten ready.

He’d drank a large cup of coffee before leaving, which had made him feel great for a while, and he was hoping the caffeine would last until after the showcase. He couldn’t afford to mess this up.

He listened to the next performers, a string quartet on their final piece, and lean further into Skeppy (It was such a good nick name, come on!). He couldn’t allow whatever feelings he had to ruin their friendship, but he could let himself have this small comfort. Just the warmth of his arm, and the feel of his side pressed against his friend. 

For a moment, that morning, when he had opened his eyes to see Zak, he had felt so happy, he thought he was dreaming. Zak’s hand in his hair, coaxing him awake. It couldn’t possible be real.

But it was! And with this information, came the dawning realization that he couldn’t relish in the touch, because he was still angry. He was still upset.

The comment had been uncalled for. The yelling had been uncalled for. They were both in horrible moods the night before, and Bad recognized that. Part of him felt the need to apologize as well. But Zak had been so guilty and sincere, he just couldn’t stay mad.

Besides, how would they perform if they were at odds?

The next few performances passed as he reflected- A trombone and trumpet doing countless glissandos, a vocalist who quite possibly had the best voice he’d ever heard and was just as strong in her head voice as her chest, a dueling pair of flutes who rivaled each other at every measure they played, an original piano composition in e minor. Everyone was at their peak performance level, and Bad prayed he wouldn’t disappoint.

There was a tenor and soprano duet, singing words of love, and the occasional foreign verse, backed by a pianist. It had a classical sound to it, but was mostly in modern English. Zak’s hand squeezed his shoulder tightly and didn’t let go as they sang.

“‘Geppy?” Bad muttered as the group before them began to play.

“Yes, Bad?” They had shifted, sitting up and facing one another.

“Whatever happens, if I mess up, or stop playing, or don’t come in on time,” He took a deep breath, “Keep playing. Show them what you can do. I know an accompanist is meant to support the soloist, but please just keep playing no matter what.”

Zak nodded his head solemnly. “I promise I will. Nothing will happen, though. It’ll go perfectly.”

“Yeah,” Bad breathed, “Perfectly.”

Second turned into hours, as the group closed their final piece. It was a chamber group, a smaller ensemble that had played some more recognizable pieces.

Bad wasn’t ready, but he let his confident facade fall into place as the MC began to announce the final performance.

He recognized her words. “Our finale pieces include…”

And she continued on. He let Zak walk out first, as was customary, and grabbed his hand before he walked out. He didn’t say a word, only squeezed and smiled.

He heard his name, and walked into the beaming lights. He felt faint, hot, cold. For a moment he was disoriented, faced with the unrecognizable faces of audience members and friends. He almost forgot what he was there for.

But he caught himself. He smiled. He moved his bow across the strings, readjusting his tuning a final time. He bounced his scroll, and brought up his bow.

This was it. This was everything. This was-

He struck his strings and began the piece.

The shock of the audience was tangible, as he launched straight into a Paganini caprice. His bow glided across the strings, and he felt weightless. This wasn’t a trial run anymore. This was the final product.

He played the first two octaves, and slid his had down. Octaves were hard. They had to be perfectly in tune with one another, but he managed to get through them without error. It this were a sports game, his audience would be cheering, hollering, encouraging him to continue, and gasping at his flawless intonation. Bad was impressed with himself, he felt happy and at ease, and he felt like he had come so far from the boy who had failed his final high school performance.

He was reborn. Like a phoenix. Reborn from ash back into the fiery player that he managed to be. And it was fantastic.

He let his bow guide him through pianissimo to forte, to fortissimo, and could have laughed at the sheer amount of joy he was experiencing. _This was music! This was the feeling one should have when playing! This is what Paganini wanted his piece to feel like!_

Zak hadn’t messed up once, his fingers flying across the piano- a g-sharp here, down to a b, up to an inverted minor. He was encouraged by Bad’s energy. He’d felt it before, this sort of happiness and excitement, and he never wanted it to end.

He listened proudly as Bad completed the final bout of double stops, and indeed on his final note for the piece. Zak, in response, echoed the last notes, and ended on an e major chord, his hands splayed across the piano.

He took a deep breath, barely heard under the audience’s polite applause. They were going to do this! They were going to finish with a bang!

Bad shifted in his stance. Zak could only see his back when he played, but now he’d moved a bit more sideways, just barely enough for him to see his scroll to start the next song. Bad’s legs were locked, and Zak wasn’t sure that was a good thing, but he followed Bad’s motions, and counted in his head.

1, 2, 3

1, 2, 3

He started on a second finger E, his wrist waving back and forth in that beautiful vibrato of his. Chopin’s Mazurka in A minor was _their_ song, and he had memorized every placed his friend’s fingers landed during the piece. There were four notes in one bowing, and the fun slide he did in a hooked bowing as he descended chromatically down to a B on the G string.

The song was dangerous feeling, like playing with fire, or doing something you knew you weren’t supposed to. The first two pages had this increasing feeling. This rising tension, as Zak played the waltz-like chords that didn’t quite ease out of their suspensions. It was fun.

Bad’s hand travelled up the neck of his instrument, and Zak’s hands went still. This was the part with total silence except for Bad’s descending notes, which hopped gracefully around the finger board. The point of the piano accompaniment fizzling out, Bad had explained previously, was that the audience would be so honed in on Bad’s melody, no one would notice until the shock of the next measure when he’d join back in.

The next part was happier, faster, stronger. This riff that ended in the same treachery it had come from. And then it repeated. The piece was very repetitive, constantly doubling back on what had just been played to further commit itself to memory.

Zak thought about how far they’d come since he’d walked in on Bad playing this piece. It had been a good month, a rocky month, a happy month. He’d made a best friend, and had been ushered into this world of showcases and violinists and trumpet rivalries and new people. But it had been so enjoyable, that he couldn’t find a second to complain about. He’d hung out with the group a few times and they were all so nice, so supportive, he hoped he could continue to hang out with them all.

He noticed all too soon, their song had come to an end, and the applause was thick, stifling. Bad’s knees were still locked, but he smiled on.

This was the last piece.

It was easy, a Vivaldi piece.

But this heir of finality that had settled upon them could not be lifted.

Bad started their ast tempo, and Zak played his introduction perfectly to speed. The notes rang out, and their pitches mingled together in the air. It was a regal tune, something that was unforgettable, and always welcome no matter how many times it could be played. And the way the duo played, could never in a lifetime be forgotten.

They got two and a half pages in, they were at the sixteenth notes which always left Bad out of breath and with shaking fingers. It was a pattern of sharps and flats cascading down the staff, all leading to the tonic note and the recurring theme to the piece.

His fingers were flying, and Zak had been stealing glances at his friend for the minutes they’d been playing, feeling so giddy, he could smile for hours. It was pure, unadulterated adrenaline.

But, Bad felt cold and hot at the same time. He dug his toe into the ground, hoping to just make it through these notes. Just make it through the measure.

He could

Not

Fail!

And he didn’t fail, not really. He fell.

He felt the adrenaline that coursed through him leave his body, and his hands felt numb.

There were so many lights on, why was his vision black?

He heard his bow clatter to the floor, and felt his own body follow.

What had he done?

There was this awful sound. Something breaking. The chipping of wood, and the sound of every note all at once. His strings?

Zak had seen the light fall into his eyes as the shadow in front of him fell. The audience audibly gasped, and he heard the horrible crunch of wood, and splintering varnish and perfection being broken beyond repair. 

The audience, ever so silent, muttered and gasped, and Zak noticed he had stopped playing.

He wanted to run to his fallen friend. He looked like some biblical figure, his arms out to his sides, and his head tilted. What if he’d hit it? Knocked a concussion into his brain?

But then, Zak remembered his promise. He squared his shoulders and finished the final measures of the piece, playing the melody as well by ear. He missed two notes, but overall he knew his intervals well enough to figure it out in the heat of the moment.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Clay, Nick, and George gether Bad up, and take him offstage. Clay sadly picked up the shattered pieces of his instrument, and took as much as he could hold back stage with them.

He gave Zak a respectful nod.

And he finished the piece, adding in a few extra flourishes where he’d seen fit. They’d already messed up, so he might as well finish with a few of his own personal touches.

He hit the final notes, striking them into his keys with anger and sadness, something he was sure the audience recognized. He stood up, turning to the audience, and professionally bowed his head forward.

By himself.

Alone.

This was a two person performance. Not a solo.

The audience clapped resignedly. 

But he could not celebrate his friend’s fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys this took so long, I'm sorry. I got really caught up in school and got really burnt out, and I didn't even have the weekend because I had things to do D: 
> 
> I hope more angst makes up for this 
> 
> By the way, I have been planning this bit since before I even began writing... Hence the title of the work :)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> First off, all this is based off of my knowledge as a Violinist and a member of the concert band, so sorry if I got anything wrong! 
> 
> Also, hi Wren :) I thought I'd return the favor of saying hi in the notes 
> 
> I was hoping to make this just five chapters, but it's looking like it'll be more! Stay tuned for the next chapter :D


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